Unshaken by the Darkness Book One
by Herebedragons66
Summary: As the daughter of a teyrn, Rhianna Cousland is no stranger to duty. But as she leaves childhood behind, she fears her duty - to family, king, and country - may come into conflict with the desires of her heart, and her friendship with Loghain Mac Tir. Cover artwork by Epsifawnshawn (please follow the Extras link on my profile for additional information).
1. Knights and Chevaliers

_The one who repents, who has faith  
__Unshaken by the darkness of the world,  
__She shall know true peace._

~ Transfigurations 10:1

•o•

_**Satinalia, 9:17 Dragon  
**__**Denerim**_

•o•

"What are you playing?"

The girl who spoke was small for her age, with hair so dark it was nearly black, hanging to the middle of her back. Her dress of sky blue silk was really too fine a garment for playing outdoors, but her mother had forced her to wear it because of the holiday. The group of similarly well-dressed children playing on the grass all turned at the sound of her voice, and she waited expectantly for one of them to answer.

"Knights and Chevaliers . . ." said a blonde-haired boy, but before he could say anything more, he was interrupted by a tall girl with straight, brown hair.

She looked down her long, thin nose at the smaller girl. "And _you_ can't play, Rhianna. Unless . . ." She paused, a crooked smile bleeding across her face but stopping short of her eyes. "Unless you want to play one of the Chevaliers."

The younger girl's smile melted away. "I won't play a Chevalier, Habren. I hate the Orlesians. I want to be one of the Knights. I could be Rowan. I'm good at sword fighting."

Habren Bryland gave a harsh laugh. "Rowan? You've got to be joking. You're not nearly pretty enough to play Rowan. Besides, I always play Rowan. No, you have to be an Orlesian, or you can't play." She glanced at a chubby boy with reddish hair, and the two of them snickered nastily.

The red-haired boy added, "Nah, she can't play, not even as an Orlesian. She's just a baby."

"I am _not_ a baby," the dark-haired girl insisted. "I'm older than you are by three months, Thomas. I've been five nearly half a year, and you've only just had your birthday."

At this, the other children all laughed. The red-haired boy was at least three inches taller and weighed easily twice as much as the girl, but he couldn't deny she was, indeed, older than he was.

"That doesn't matter." He sounded less sure of himself now; it hadn't been clear if the other children were laughing at Rhianna, or at him.

"Of course it matters," Rhianna countered. "If I'm a baby, you're an even bigger baby."

Again, the children burst into laughter, and Thomas' face grew red. This time there was no doubt they were laughing at him.

"No, I am NOT!" he shouted, looking around as if trying to gauge whether or not any of the nearby adults were paying attention. Apparently satisfied no one important was likely to see, he turned back to Rhianna."And we don't want to play with you, Rhianna Cousland. Not _ever_!"

He ran at her, and before she had time to react, Thomas thrust both hands out, pushing her hard in the chest, and sending her tumbling backwards.

Rhianna cried out, then scrambled to her feet, never taking her eyes off the boy. She strode up to him and, without hesitation, punched him smoothly with a balled-up fist. Rhianna's knuckles connected with his nose, sending blood spurting down his face and onto the front of his shirt.

Thomas moaned, covering his face with his hands, and then began wailing loudly.

After a moment of stunned silence, the other children began shouting and laughing. Habren hurried to Thomas' side and pulled his hands away from his face to reveal blood and snot streaming out of his nose. Habren's eyes narrowed and she glared for a moment at Rhianna, then tugged on the boy's arm. She led him away, toward of a knot of adults sitting along the edge of the lawn across the courtyard.

Rhianna watched them leave, her mouth set in a tight frown.

A good-looking older boy walked over, drawn by the noise. He was tall and thin, with golden blonde hair.

"What happened here?" he asked one of the boys who was laughing. "I saw Thomas Howe push the Cousland girl, and a moment later he was crying."

"Rhianna bloodied Thomas' nose!" the boy replied mirthfully.

"He deserved it, Prince Cailan," a red-haired girl added. "Thomas started it. He was saying mean things to Rhianna, and then he pushed her down."

Cailan looked at Rhianna, frowning when he noticed a trickle of blood running down her left arm. Kneeling beside her, he lifted her arm to reveal a shard of glass embedded in the skin just below her elbow.

"Maker's breath," he swore. "That must hurt."

Rhianna merely shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, let's see about getting you some help for it," he suggested.

As the other children began to wander off now the excitement had ended, Cailan picked up the girl and hefted her onto one of his hips. She put her arms around his shoulders, and he looked around the large courtyard, which was surprisingly quiet considering it was a feast day. Spotting his quarry, he carried Rhianna to where two men sat on a bench, deep in conversation. They stopped talking when they noticed the children's approach.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Cailan walked up to a man who shared his light blonde hair, pleasant features and friendly blue eyes.

"Father, have you seen Teyrn Bryce? His daughter's fallen on a piece of glass and hurt her arm." Cailan set Rhianna down, then ran his hand carelessly through his loose, shoulder-length hair.

King Maric Theirin frowned, gently grasping Rhianna's arm and turning it to see her injury. His eyes narrowed at the sight of nearly an inch of glass protruding from the wound.

"Bryce stepped away for a few minutes, but he should be back soon. That looks nasty, though." After examining it more closely, he added, "It definitely needs to come out." With a hopeful look, Maric turned to his companion: a broad-chested man with a prominent nose and long, dark hair with wind braids at his temples. "Loghain, I don't suppose you'd be willing to . . . do the honors?"

In response, the Teyrn of Gwaren raised an eyebrow at the man who had been his best friend for the past twenty years.

Maric merely grinned back at him, a charming, hopeful sort of grin.

With a sigh, Loghain gestured for the girl to approach. As Maric had done, Loghain grasped her arm and examined the injury. It was a large shard, and must have been causing her no small amount of pain. There was no sign of it on her face, however, and her eyes were dry.

"You're Bryce Cousland's daughter?" His voice was deep and resonant. "Rhianna. Right?"

"Yes, ser," she replied. "And you're Loghain Mac Tir. Father's told me so many stories about what you did during the Rebellion." She gave him a genuine, friendly smile, looking directly into the icy blue gaze most people rarely held even a moment longer than necessary.

"Would you like me to remove this piece of glass for you?" he offered. "It's going to hurt, but only for a moment. Then, I promise it will feel better."

"Yes, please."

Loghain held her elbow gently, and grasped the glass shard between the finger and thumb of his other hand. "Let's count to five together, shall we?"

"All right."

Together, they began counting.

"One.

"Two."

Before she'd taken another breath in preparation to count "three," he swiftly pulled out the shard. She flinched only slightly.

"You said we would count to five!" she exclaimed, her green eyes growing impossibly large in her small, pale face. She sounded more alarmed about the counting than she had been about the shard.

"All right then, so we will," he said in his gravely voice. "Three . . ."

When she didn't say anything, he repeated himself, somewhat more loudly. "Three . . ."

She giggled. "Three."

Together they counted, "Four."

In unison, they finished on "Five!" Glancing down at her arm, Rhianna saw a trickle of blood. The smile slid from her face as she pulled her arm away.

"Oh! I'm sorry, ser. I've gotten blood on your trousers!"

There were a few dark drops soaking into the black fabric above his knee. He caught the girl's chin in one hand and looked directly into her eyes. "It's all right, Rhianna. It will wash out. Let's see to your wound, shall we? That's more important than my trousers."

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded, and allowed him to turn her arm over once again. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed gently at the wound, wiping away blood.

He turned to Maric, gesturing impatiently with one hand. "Give me your flask." The king looked surprised for a moment, but complied with the request, pulling a silver flask from his pocket and handing it to the teyrn.

Loghain removed the stopper, then held it above the wound on Rhianna's arm. "This is going to sting, but I want to make sure the cut is clean before we bandage it." The girl nodded, and Loghain aimed a trickle of amber liquid over the gash on her arm. She didn't react at all; perhaps the whiskey wasn't getting into the wound. He rubbed at the cut with one finger until he was satisfied he had flushed any dirt in the wound, then wiped away the traces of whiskey and blood that remained. He pulled a dagger from his boot, its steel blade gleaming faintly red, and cut a strip from the handkerchief. After folding it into a bandage, he wrapped it around Rhianna's thin arm and tied it into place.

"There," he said, turning her arm to inspect his handiwork. "That ought to hold. Just leave the bandage in place until tomorrow, and the wound should heal up nicely."

"What's going on here?" A voice rang out from the courtyard, as an auburn-haired man with a mustache and closely-trimmed beard hurried to the girl's side. "Rhianna, what happened to your arm?" He knelt beside her, examining the bandage.

"It's nothing, Father," she replied. "I got a piece of glass in my arm, that's all. But Teyrn Loghain pulled it out for me. And put on a bandage."

Teyrn Bryce Cousland's normally cheerful face grew dark, and his blue eyes narrowed. He looked up at Loghain and Maric.

"What's this about glass? Do either of you know what happened?"

Before either of the men, or Cailan, could answer, another man approached, taking large steps, his fists clenched at his sides. His grey hair was short, and he glared down at Rhianna over a large, hooked nose. Turning to her father, he said, "Bryce, did you know your daughter just bloodied Thomas' nose?" Arl Rendon Howe was unable to contain the anger in his voice.

Bryce's frown deepened. "Is this true, Pup? You hit Thomas?"

"Yes, Father, I hit him," she admitted. "He said I was a baby, and couldn't play Knights and Chevaliers unless I agreed to be one of the Chevaliers. You know I would never play an Orlesian."

Loghain had to stop himself from chuckling at this statement, and he glanced over at Maric, who was also clearly amused by her refusal to "play an Orlesian."

"Rhianna!" Bryce replied. "That is no reason to hit someone!"

The girl stood perfectly still, looking up at her father with a slight frown on her face, and then she nodded, looking contrite.

Before she could respond, Cailan broke in. "Thomas Howe started it, Teyrn Bryce. I didn't hear the part about having to be Orlesian, but I did see Thomas push Rhianna to the ground. That's how she got the glass in her arm. Rhianna was only defending herself."

Bryce's face softened, as he turned to face the elder Howe. "I suppose Thomas neglected to mention that part of the story?"

The Arl of Amaranthine's face split into a smile which stopped short of his eyes. "No, he didn't tell me he'd pushed Rhianna. Surely, though, there's more to the story than this. Even Cailan admits he didn't witness the whole encounter."

Bryce turned to his daughter. "Well, Pup? Tell me what happened."

"All right. The other children were playing Knights and Chevaliers, and I asked if I could play, too. Habren and Thomas said I couldn't play with them unless I played an Orlesian, and then Thomas called me a baby. I said that Thomas was the baby. After all he is three months younger than me. How can I be a baby if he's not? But he didn't like that, and he pushed me down and hurt my arm. So I hit him."

Loghain watched as she glanced at the faces of the men who looked down at her: her father, slightly concerned; Rendon Howe, stiff and thin-lipped; Cailan, smiling encouragingly; and Maric looking like he was trying hard not to smile. When her eyes met Loghain's, he gave her a brief wink, and he saw the barest hint of a smile cross her face, as though she had just decided she wasn't likely to be in too much trouble after all.

Turning to her father, she said, "I'll apologize for hitting him if you want me to, Father."

Bryce chuckled softly. "No, Pup. That won't be necessary. Not unless Thomas apologizes for pushing you down." He looked over at Loghain, and put his hand out. Loghain handed him the glass shard. Bryce turned it slowly, and the pointed end caught the light, glowing faintly red with blood. "That must have hurt," he said, glancing at Rendon Howe before looking back at his daughter.

Rhianna shrugged. "I suppose so. But Teyrn Loghain fixed it for me. He's good at bandaging." She glanced at Loghain, and couldn't keep a small grin from sliding across her face. "Even if he's not very good at counting to five." Loghain arched one of his brows at her, and she burst into a giggle, infecting everyone with her mirth except the persistently dour Rendon Howe.

"You do realize, Bryce," Howe said, "that at some point the girl will need to learn she can't always get her way. And if she goes around hitting people, it's no wonder the other children don't want to play with her."

All eyes turned to Howe, including Rhianna's, as her laughter faded away.

"Now, Rendon," Bryce said with a slightly forced smile on his face, "Surely you're not suggesting Rhianna should allow boys to treat her however they want. She does need to be able to defend herself, if necessary. It was your son who struck the first blow, and he's quite a bit bigger than she is."

Howe smiled stiffly. "Yes, well I suppose you're right, Bryce." He glanced at Rhianna. "Besides, children will be children, won't they? Well, I'd better see to Thomas. I've sent one of the servants to find a healer. I suspect his nose is broken."

As Howe turned and strode away, Bryce Cousland sighed, and settled himself on a bench across from Maric and Loghain. Cailan followed suit, sliding himself onto the bench next to Bryce. Rhianna remained standing near Loghain, looking at each of the men, and Cailan, in turn, as if waiting to see what would be said next.

"Just how bad was the cut, Loghain?" Bryce asked. "Perhaps I should see about getting the healer, as well. Do you think it will leave a scar?"

"It was a reasonably large piece of glass," Loghain shrugged. "I expect it will leave a scar, probably half an inch long on the back of her arm. Not a particularly noticeable spot."

Bryce frowned, but Rhianna spoke first. "I don't mind having a scar. All real warriors have scars. You have scars from when you fought in the Rebellion, don't you Father?" Turning to Loghain and the king, "And so do both of you."

"Yes." Bryce hesitated. "Some warriors have scars. But don't you think you're a bit young to want to be a warrior just yet?"

"You just said I need to know how to defend myself. And I did a good job of it. Doesn't that make me a warrior?"

Bryce let out a breath that was half sigh, half resigned laughter. "All right, Pup. If you want a scar, you can have a scar. But I intend to let you explain it to your mother."

Silence fell again over the small group, as the three men and the boy looked down at the small, strong-willed girl standing in front of them.

"Well done, by the way, Rhianna. Breaking his nose, I mean," Cailan whispered, grinning. Her eyes lit up as she smiled back at him.

"Cailan . . ." Maric's tone held a note of rebuke.

"Oh, come on, Father. If you're going to hit someone, it might as well be done properly, don't you agree? And she broke his nose! That's quite an accomplishment. Especially for someone her size, against someone his size." He turned to Rhianna. "Just how old are you, anyway?"

"I turned five on the first of Solace. How old are you?"

"Me?" Cailan seemed surprised by the question, as though he assumed everyone already knew how old he was. "I'm twelve."

"I wish I were twelve. Then maybe people wouldn't call me a baby."

Cailan laughed. "There's nothing so special about being twelve. I think you're on the right track already. Just keep hitting people in the nose, and they'll soon learn not to call you a baby."

"Cailan!" Maric repeated, more forcefully.

"He's right, Maric," Loghain said, feeling vaguely amused. "It worked for us during the Occupation. Well, not hitting people in the nose, perhaps, but you can't deny the banns voiced fewer complaints after the evening you held court in Gwaren. What was the man's name? Donall?"

"Don't remind me, Loghain," Marc murmured. "Some things are better left in the past."

Rhianna looked at Loghain. "You're talking about the Rebellion, aren't you?"

Loghain nodded. She placed her small hands on one of his knees. He could feel their warmth seeping through the fabric of his trousers.

"Will you tell me a story?" she asked. "About the Rebellion?"

Maric chuckled, and muttered, "Just not _that_ one, old friend."

Loghain studied the small girl who stood before him, a hopeful look in her eyes. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had asked him to tell a story. It's possible no one ever had. His own daughter, Anora, was a serious child who seemed to prefer learning her history directly from books, and Loghain wasn't exactly the sort of person to whom small children were usually drawn. The girl looked so earnest, though, and he'd been impressed by how calm she had been regarding the shard of glass in her arm. He found himself unwilling to deny her this request that was, after all, easy enough to deliver.

"All right. What sort of story would you like to hear?"

Rhianna's eyes lit up as she extended her arms to Loghain. He picked her up, pulling her onto his lap.

As she settled herself on one of his knees, she replied, "Something exciting, with sword fighting and monsters."

"Lady Cousland," King Maric said in an imperious voice, "_All_ stories about the Rebellion are exciting, with sword fights and monsters. And a very handsome prince. That's how I remember it, anyway." When Rhianna glanced at him, he winked, causing her to giggle.

"Well," Loghain began, clearing his throat and giving Maric a slightly exasperated look, "let's see what I can do about sword fighting and monsters."

He took a deep breath, and released it slowly, looking down at Rhianna while considering what he would say. She turned her face toward his, an expectant smile stealing across her face.

"Once upon a time, there was a prince." He glanced at Maric. "A very _handsome _prince," Loghain added, in a slightly mocking tone of voice.

"That's King Maric, right?" Rhianna asked.

"Yes, that was Maric, although he wasn't the king yet. He was supposed to be the king, but someone else had stolen the throne."

"Meghren, the Usurper," Rhianna added. "He was from Orlais. That's why I never want to be an Orlesian when we play Knights and Chevaliers. The Orlesians are mean and cowardly and ugly. And horrible. Isn't that right?"

Loghain's mouth turned up at one corner. Apparently, Bryce and Eleanor had made certain the girl knew her history, at least the Fereldan version of it.

"I would agree with that assessment," he replied. "And yes, it was Meghren the Usurper who sat on the throne, the throne that rightfully belonged to Prince Maric.

"In order to take back his throne, Maric needed an army, and he already had the start of one. One of his companions was the daughter of the Arl of Redcliffe."

"That's Queen Rowan, before she was the queen," Rhianna piped in. "She's my favorite."

A wistful smile formed on Maric's lips at the mention of his wife, who had passed away nine years ago.

"Exactly," Loghain confirmed. "Lady Rowan was one of the best sword fighters in all of Ferelden, and was very beautiful. Also traveling with them was a young man, the son of the leader of a group of outlaws who had been loyal to Maric's mother, Queen Moira. This man hadn't wanted to join the Rebellion, but somehow he and Maric became friends. And by the time of our story, he was as loyal to the cause as anyone."

"You're talking about yourself, aren't you?" Rhianna whispered.

"Yes."

"You forgot to say that you were also very handsome," Rhianna said earnestly. Maric made a strangled sort of noise that sounded like stifled laughter, and Rhianna turned to look at him. "That's the way the story is when Father tells it. Teyrn Loghain is always the handsomest."

Maric's brow furrowed as he laughed. "Really?" He turned to the Teyrn of Highever. "Just what sort of stories are you telling the girl, Bryce?" the king asked with a grin.

All eyes turned to Bryce, who looked baffled. "I . . . erm, I don't know, Maric. What's this, Pup? I don't think I've ever said anyone was the handsome . . . est." He glanced sheepishly from Loghain to Maric and back to Loghain again, while Cailan snickered.

"Well of course Father didn't have to actually _say_ it," Rhianna explained, looking at Maric. "I figured it out for myself." She held up one of her small hands, counting out on her fingers as she continued, "Lady Rowan was the best," she said confidently, holding one finger in the air. "Because she was a girl, like me, and because she could fight with swords and beat just about anyone." She put up another finger. "Prince Maric was the bravest, because every time he got on a horse, he fell off, but he kept getting back up time after time."

Bryce and Maric both burst into laughter at this comment, Cailan gasped aloud, and even Loghain had difficulty keeping his expression under control. Rhianna's small features crumpled in confusion.

"But it's true!" she exclaimed, looking at her father. "Don't you think it's very brave to keep trying something you can't do very well?"

"I do, indeed, Pup," Bryce affirmed, his mouth tight with the laughter he was trying to hold back.

Rhianna nodded, and continued, now holding three fingers aloft. "And Teyrn Loghain was handsomest, because he was the best at killing things."

She nodded with finality after this statement, and once again, a round of laughter burst forth. Maric in particular began to howl with merriment, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. The glare Loghain gave him would have cowed anyone else, but Maric merely waved a hand dismissively, and continued rocking back and forth with glee.

"What's so funny?" Rhianna asked, sounding a bit offended.

"Nothing, Rhianna," Maric managed, forcing himself to stop laughing. "Nothing at all. I think you're quite right in your assessments of all three of us. In any case, I heartily agree that Rowan was, indeed, the best. And Loghain is undeniably very handsome." Once again, he suppressed his laughter, turning to Bryce Cousland. "What I want to know, Bryce, is how your daughter got this idea about me and falling off horses. I'm certain that only happened once. Or maybe twice."

Loghain snorted audibly. "I'm not sure I can think of a single story Bryce might have told which _doesn't _feature you falling off your horse."

"Oh no you don't, Loghain," Maric laughed. "I'm not going to allow you to slander me in this way." To Rhianna, "Just which horse-falling-off stories have you heard? You tell me what you were told, and I'll tell you what _really_ happened."

"Well . . ." Rhianna began, thoughtfully. "There was the time when you were trying to escape from the chevaliers, after the battle of West Hill, and . . ."

"Oh," Maric interrupted. "Yes, well. That one did really happen. In my defense, I did have an arrow stuck in my leg at the time."

"And there was the time when you fell off into a snowbank, and had to wait for Teyrn Loghain to pull you out again." Rhianna looked at the king expectantly.

Maric's face fell, just a bit. "Well, erm, yes. Okay, so that one, too."

"And there was the time . . ."

"Maker's breath, Rhianna," Bryce interrupted. "Perhaps you'd better stop talking about the stories I've told about the Rebellion, or we might find ourselves exiled to the Free Marches!" More laughter from Maric and Bryce, while Rhianna frowned.

"I don't understand what's so funny!" she complained. "I thought being brave was a very good thing to be."

Maric smiled warmly at the girl. "It is a very good thing to be, my dear. On the other hand, being famous for falling off of horses _isn't_ a particularly good thing to be. If that makes any sense."

Rhianna considered this for a moment, and then nodded, slowly. "I suppose I understand." She looked up at Loghain. "You're not going to complain about being the handsomest, are you?" she asked, sitting up tall and crossing her arms in front of her chest as if daring him to challenge her. Once again, Maric burst out into laughter and Loghain shot a glare at him.

When Loghain answered Rhianna's question, however, his voice was gentle.

"No, I won't complain," he replied.

As she released her arms and settled back down into his lap, he was surprisingly touched by the smile this brought to her small face.

"Now, shall I continue with the story?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

Loghain gazed out into the courtyard for a moment, gathering his thoughts and trying to remember where he was going with the narrative.

"After the Battle of West Hill, most of the soldiers who had joined the Rebellion had been killed, and Maric and his friends needed to get to Gwaren, where they hoped they would be safe and be able to start recruiting a new army. But traveling overland was not easy. The Usurper's soldiers marched across the land in great numbers, and his spies could turn up just about anywhere."

Rhianna nodded solemnly at this, as though she had great experience with the difficulty of evading spies.

"They learned of a way they could get to Gwaren, not above ground, but below it: by traveling the Deep Roads that had been built many centuries before by the dwarves. So, the three friends entered the Deep Roads through a great stone door in the mountains, and began their descent into the bowels of the earth."

"Aren't you forgetting someone?" Maric asked in a voice so quiet that Loghain was not certain, at first, what he had said.

Loghain shifted his gaze to the king. For a moment, the two men stared at one another. Finally, Loghain shrugged, and looked out over the courtyard. When he continued, he couldn't quite keep the hard edge from his voice.

"Accompanying them was a young woman, an elf named Katriel. She was the one who knew where to find the entrance to the Deep Roads, and she promised to guide them through the tunnels below." Loghain glanced at Maric, who nodded as if satisfied with this adjustment to the story.

"The four of us traveled for several days, going downward, deeper and deeper into the earth. Underground, we had no way of judging the time, no daylight or nighttime to tell us when to sleep. We traveled until we were so tired we could barely put one foot in front of the other, and had to stop for a rest. When we awoke, we walked until we were tired again.

"Finally, we arrived in what had once been a magnificent dwarven city, what the dwarves call a 'thaig.' It was Ortan Thaig, named after one of the great noble houses of the dwarves, and it was truly one of the most amazing places I have ever seen. Beautiful stonework buildings, and bridges that crossed over the underground river, and gigantic statues that were so tall we could barely see the tops of them in the darkness above."

Loghain dropped the pitch and the volume of his voice, causing both Rhianna and Cailan to lean just a bit closer as he continued. "But hiding up in that darkness lurked something horrible, something beyond imagining." He bent his head toward Rhianna, and her eyes grew wide in anticipation. "It began with a whispering sound. Faint at first, but then growing louder and louder. A clicking, scritching, chittering sound that echoed in the hall all around us until suddenly . . .

"_Giant spiders!_" he bellowed, grabbing Rhianna by the shoulders. "They fell out of the darkness above, and _attacked_ us!"

The girl shrieked and hid her face in her hands, her entire body trembling.

Maker's balls. Had he gone too far and truly scared the child?

When he leaned down to get a glimpse at her face and she uncovered her eyes, they were bright, peeking out at him with merriment. She shivered with laughter, rubbing her hands together excitedly.

"Spiders!" she exclaimed, drawing out the word over one long breath. "How big were they?"

"Enormous. Bigger than anything I could have imagined."

"Bigger than my hand?"

"_Much _bigger."

"Bigger than a mabari hound?"

"Bigger even than a full-grown_ horse_!"

Rhianna shuddered again, with obvious pleasure at the thought of something so horrible as horse-sized giant spiders living underground, secure in the knowledge that, however horrible they may have been, the man in whose lap she was sitting had defeated them, and lived to tell the tale.

"What happened next? Did they try to eat you? Or carry you off to their Spider Queen?"

At this, Loghain laughed aloud. Real laughter, for the first time that afternoon. "They did indeed try to eat us, Rhianna, and there may well have been a Spider Queen, but, thank the Maker, we didn't see any sign of her."

"What did you do?"

"What do you think we did? We pulled out our swords, and we fought them! They tried to bite us, with venom dripping from their fangs. Rowan cut the head off one, then whirled around to put her sword straight through another that had come up from behind. Maric gave a mighty war cry, and severed the legs of another. Katriel wasn't quick enough to get out of the way, and one of them bit her, and we had to cut open the wound and suck out the poison so she wouldn't die. Finally, I took a torch and set fire to the webs that swung in the air over our heads, setting several of the spiders ablaze. One by one, they dropped to the stone at our feet, until every last one had been killed!"

"Maker's breath, Loghain," Maric said. "You'll give the girl nightmares." He snorted. "I was there, and I'm afraid you'll give _me_ nightmares."

"Oh, no!" Rhianna exclaimed, as if afraid the king was going to make Loghain stop. "He's telling it perfectly! This is exactly the kind of story I like best!"

"Yes, Father," Cailan added quickly. "Let him finish. I've never heard this one before, and it sounds like a glorious adventure!"

Maric's eyebrows shot skyward, and he glanced at Bryce.

"It's all right, Maric," the teyrn assured him. "Rhianna will sleep just fine tonight, no matter how many venomous spiders you fought in the Deep Roads. My Pup likes an exciting story."

Apparently satisfied with these responses, Maric sat back against the bench, gesturing for Loghain to continue.

The dark-haired man cleared his throat. "After killing the spiders, we left the thaig, needing to get to Gwaren as quickly as possible. Remember, there was no daylight at all, nothing to light our way as we traveled other than the torches we carried, and sometimes the glow of hot lava running in pits alongside of the roads.

"Every so often we came to a crossroads. Katriel knew the way some of the time, but there were other times when we had to guess which path to take. We traveled like this for many days, hoping we would make it back to the surface before running out of food. Still, there was no going back. We could have never retraced our steps and gone out the way we had come. We had to continue forward, or die.

"After several days we found ourselves in a tunnel, narrower than others we had traveled before. As we pressed forward, we heard noises up ahead. The sound of feet approaching – a great many feet – and grunting noises, like those made by animals. A foul stench wafted toward us through the air, a stench of death and decay, of something tainted and unholy.

"The sounds drew closer and closer, and still we did not know what sort of enemy we were about to face. Finally, in the darkness, we could see their forms in the shadows, and a moment later we laid eyes for the first time on creatures I had only heard of in legend. Creatures the rest of Thedas thought had been destroyed utterly four hundred years ago." Here he paused, and Rhianna leaned closer, hanging on his every word.

"Creatures," he whispered, bending his head toward her rapt face, "known as darkspawn."

As he spoke the final word, her jaw dropped and her eyes grew almost impossibly wide.

"Dark . . . spawn," she repeated, as though she couldn't quite believe that she'd heard him correctly. "Were they . . . were they _really_ darkspawn, Teyrn Loghain?"

He nodded, solemnly. "They were really darkspawn, Rhianna. And there were a lot of them. At least four dozen of them, and when they saw us in the hall, they charged, bellowing and gibbering in no language known to human, elf nor dwarf."

Rhianna let out the breath she had been holding, and reached up with one small hand to grasp the sleeve of Loghain's shirt.

Glancing at her face, he decided she was still enjoying the story, and continued.

"Drawing our weapons, we prepared to fight; Rowan and I in front, and Maric at the side, trying to shield Katriel. Our blades cut through the darkness, slashing into the darkspawn, but for every one that fell, another seemed to appear from behind. It was clear we would not be able to defeat them – their numbers were just too great – so I called out for a retreat. We tried to move back down the tunnel, but as we fought desperately to hold off the darkspawn pressing at us from the front, we realized they were approaching us from behind, as well. We were trapped, surrounded by darkspawn with no way out."

Rhianna's small frame went stiff, and her hand clutched more tightly at his sleeve. He paused, glancing at the others. Maric and Bryce were both watching him closely, with slight, nearly identical frowns on their faces, but attentive to the story. Cailan was sitting at the very edge of the bench, leaning so far forward he was in danger of unseating himself. His face was pale but smiling, and his wide eyes were sparkling. Loghain looked down again at Rhianna, whose breathing had quickened through her small, parted lips. She looked worried, her face even more pale than when he pulled the shard out of her arm.

"Did you think you were going to die?" she murmured, her green eyes locked on his icy blue ones.

He nodded, once. "Yes. I was certain we were going to die."

"But you didn't."

"No, we didn't."

"Tell me what happened," she demanded in a whisper.

"We fought, as hard as we could. I at the front, Maric at the rear, and Rowan trying to protect Katriel from darkspawn coming at us from the side. But we were being worn down. With every swing of my sword, my arm felt heavier and heavier, and I'd been cut by darkspawn blades, and could feel myself growing light-headed from loss of blood."

Rhianna took a breath, swallowed once, and shifted slightly on Loghain's knee.

"Then, just when I thought all was lost, there was a sound in the darkness, behind the larger force in front of us. The sound of a horn." Both of the children gasped aloud. "When they heard it, the darkspawn paused, and started to lose their focus. Some of them seemed to forget about us, and they turned toward the sound. We heard marching feet, and suddenly, out of the darkness appeared a group of dwarves, clad in shining metal armor, armed with swords and axes and hammers."

"Dwarves?" Rhianna practically squealed in delight, bouncing up and down on Loghain's knee in excitement. "You were saved by dwarves?"

Loghain chuckled. "Yes, the dwarves marched in, then came to a halt, and for a long moment they just stared at the darkspawn, and the darkspawn stared back. And then, one of them let out a piercing battle cry, and both sides rushed at one another. As they fought, the four of us did our part to help, and within a few minutes, all of the monsters were dead, and we were introducing ourselves to our saviors: members of the Legion of the Dead."

"The Legion of the Dead?" Cailan asked. "What's the Legion of the Dead?"

"They're soldiers," Loghain explained, "dwarves who decide, usually as a matter of family honor, to enter the Deep Roads permanently, spending the rest of their lives battling the darkspawn. They're called the Legion of the Dead because their families know they will never return, and even hold funerals for them before they go. This particular group saved all our lives."

"And the rest of Ferelden," Rhianna added, in a remarkably calm voice, considering how tense she had been only moments before. "Because if you and Lady Rowan and Prince Maric had died, we would have never been freed from the Orlesians."

He held her gaze as an understanding passed between them. Maker's breath. Somehow, as unlikely as it may have seemed, Rhianna Cousland honestly did see just how important all of it had been: the Rebellion, driving the Orlesians out of Ferelden, putting Maric on the throne no matter how much it had cost. Of course she didn't know the particulars or have any inkling of what it had truly cost. But at some fundamental level, she understood.

"I don't know what sort of stories you've been telling your daughter, Bryce," Loghain commented wryly, glancing at Ferelden's only other teyrn, "but you've done an admirable job teaching her what it means to be Fereldan."

Bryce coughed, as if embarrassed by the other man's statement. "The Couslands always do our duty, Loghain. You know that," he muttered. The two men regarded one another for a long moment, before Cailan broke the silence.

"What happened next?" he asked, eagerly.

"Well . . ." Loghain hesitated, needing a moment to pick up the thread again, feeling off-balance, somehow, by the telling of the story and the small girl sitting on his knee. "The Legion of the Dead took us to the place where they were living, and fed us, and helped us tend to our wounds. The next day, a few of them led us to the tunnel that would take us up to Gwaren, which we were able to reach safely. In Gwaren, we found a great many people who were loyal to our cause, and eager to support Maric in taking back the throne."

As he exhaled one last time at the end of the story, Rhianna finally let go of his shirt, and her small body slumped slightly, as she released the tension she'd been holding throughout the telling of the story.

"Thank you, Teyrn Loghain," she said quietly. She glanced quickly at her father, biting her lip, and then grasped the collar of Loghain's shirt, pulling him gently toward her as she leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"That was the _best_ story I have ever heard. But please don't tell my father I said so. I don't want to hurt his feelings, since he's the one who usually tells me stories." She leaned back, sitting down again on his knee, looking up at him for confirmation that he would, indeed, keep her secret.

He nodded solemnly, and she smiled.

"Well, I highly approve of that particular story," Maric said. "There wasn't a single horse for me to fall off of." This brought on a round of laughter from everyone, after which the small group became quiet for a moment, as the sounds from the courtyard – sounds which no one had noticed while Loghain had been speaking – gradually came back into focus.

Again, Cailan broke the silence. "Yes, thank you, Teyrn Loghain. That was really a wonderfully good story. Giant spiders and darkspawn?"

"And dwarves!" Rhianna interjected.

"Yes, we mustn't forget the dwarves," Cailan agreed. The two children looked at one another and nodded in perfect understanding of just how marvelous the story had been. Cailan cocked his head to one side as he looked at Rhianna, almost as if seeing her for the first time.

"You know, Rhianna," Cailan began. "You mustn't let what Habren and that Howe boy say bother you. They're really both dreadfully dull. And not very nice."

"I know," Rhianna replied. "But Mother and Father say I need to try and get along with everyone, because I'm the daughter of a teyrn. I'm not supposed to argue with people. Surely, it's the same with you, right? Being the son of the king? Or do you get to argue with whomever you like?"

She sounded like someone far older than her five years should allow, and the three men witnessing this exchange shared amused glances at one another.

"Well," Cailan began, thoughtfully, "I'm not really supposed to argue with people either. I'm supposed to be nice to everyone. Since, you know, I'll be king someday and I'll need all of the arls and the banns . . . and the teyrns," he said, almost as an afterthought, glancing sheepishly at Bryce and then at Loghain, before turning back to Rhianna, "to agree to support me. You know."

The girl nodded. "I'm not sure I'm supposed to be nice to absolutely everyone, but I think I am definitely supposed to be nice to Thomas Howe. His father wants the two of us to get married someday."

"Pup!" her father exclaimed. "Where on earth did you hear that?"

"From Habren. She didn't say it to me. She was teasing Thomas about it. Trying to make him cry, because he'll have to marry me someday, and I'm so horrible. And stupid. And ugly," she shrugged. "According to Habren."

"Well, that's ridiculous," Cailan said earnestly. "Habren is the one who's stupid. And I can't imagine anyone in their right mind saying you're ugly, Rhianna. You're one of the prettiest girls I know." He paused. "For someone who is five years old, I mean."

"Nicely said, Cailan," Bryce added. "And you needn't worry about having to marry Thomas Howe, Pup. Your mother and I agreed long ago we would never force you to marry someone you didn't like."

At this, Loghain glanced at Maric, who seemed to share his surprise, and then back at Bryce, eyebrows raised.

"Well, it's true," Bryce responded to their unspoken question. "She's the daughter of a teyrn, after all, and you both know as well as I do she'll be marrying beneath her station. Since you," he directed his comment at Loghain, with a lilt to his voice meant to show that he was joking, "never bothered to have a son for her to marry."

"Oh, but I already know who I want to marry," Rhianna announced brightly. Instantly, all eyes were upon her.

"And who might that be?" Bryce's expression made it clear that, even knowing his daughter as well as he did, he had absolutely no idea what she was about to say.

"Well," she began, "I'm the daughter of a teyrn, but since I have an older brother I won't be able to inherit the teyrnir myself. Which is too bad, really, as I think it would be good fun to be a teyrna, and I would do my best to be nice to the people of Highever. But, that's not going to happen, so I have to marry someone 'special.' That's what Mother says, anyway." She paused. Loghain was somewhat startled when she turned her face to his. "And I don't know anyone special-er than you, Teyrn Loghain. So, when I'm all grown up, will you marry me? I'd be a very nice wife for you, regardless of what Habren says about me."

Loghain tried to keep any emotion from showing on his face, but he felt his eyes grow wider as his brows knit almost imperceptibly together. He could see without a doubt that the girl was utterly sincere, and Bryce was seized with another fit of coughing, apparently nonplussed by his daughter's pronouncement. Cailan looked delighted, and Maric . . . well, Maric was sitting as still as possible in his seat, pressing his lips together in a desperate attempt to keep from bursting into laughter.

Rhianna seemed oblivious to everyone else around her, as she sat patiently on the teyrn's knee, waiting for his answer.

Was this mirth he was feeling, or extreme discomfort? He really wasn't sure.

Inhaling deeply, he struggled for something to say. "Rhianna." He took another breath. "I am sure you would, indeed, have made a very nice wife for me. But I'm afraid I can't agree to marry you. I already have a wife, you see. Anora's mother, Celia."

Rhianna's expression didn't change – the set of her mouth didn't shift, her cheekbones didn't fall, her eyes continued to regard Loghain steadily – but it was as if something internal collapsed, taking all of the air out of her.

"Oh," she said softly. "I'm sorry, ser. I didn't realize." Then she smiled, "That's all right. I'm sure there will be someone else special who will come along eventually. And you and I can always be friends, right?"

"Pup," Bryce said gently, "why don't you run off and find Fergus? Perhaps he can take you on some sort of adventure. What was it you were talking about earlier? Something you wanted to do?"

Her face brightened. "I wanted to go to the top of Fort Drakon."

"Fort Drakon?" Maric asked, having calmed himself from the fit of laughter which, judging by his voice even now threatened to overtake him again. "Why on earth would you want to climb the fort?"

"It's the highest point in the city," she said slowly, as if speaking to someone very young, or perhaps a bit slow in the head. "Nowhere else for miles and miles has a better view of Ferelden and the sea."

Maric considered this for a moment. "That is true."

"Fort Drakon is too far to go right now, Pup," Bryce replied.

"We could climb the clock tower," Cailan suggested. "I'll go with you, if you like, Rhianna."

Maric and Loghain both looked at Cailan with surprise. The boy wasn't usually quite so willing to cooperate with ideas that originated with other children.

"May I go with Prince Cailan, Father? Please?"

Bryce smiled indulgently. "Of course, Rhianna. Just be back before dark. You need to get to bed early tonight, as we're starting back for Highever in the morning."

"Yes, ser." Rhianna turned once again to Loghain, smiling up at him gratefully. She leaned up and kissed him briefly on the cheek, then slid out of his lap onto the cobblestones. "Thank you, Teyrn Loghain, for the story. It really was wonderful. And for bandaging my wound."

She turned to Cailan, who had stood and was waiting for her to join him. She slipped her fingers around his, and, hand in hand, they walked out into the courtyard, Rhianna skipping on every other step to keep up with the older boy's longer stride.

"Just what was it she whispered to you, Loghain?" Bryce asked, eyes on his daughter as she made her way across the courtyard.

Loghain hesitated before answering. "She asked me . . . not to tell." When Bryce glanced at the other man, frowning, Loghain was quick to add, "She was just thanking me for the story, and she . . . well . . . it wasn't anything important."

Bryce looked vaguely dissatisfied, but Loghain wasn't sure what else to say without breaking the promise he had made.

"Probably," Maric said, laughter in his voice, "she was just telling him how she thinks he's the 'handsomest.'" All the laughter Maric had tried to hold back earlier came bursting forth, while Loghain glared at him and Bryce chuckled, shaking his head.

Bryce turned to Loghain. "You're not soon going to live that one down, are you?"

Maric laughed merrily. "Oh, I don't think he's ever going to live that one down. Not if I have anything to say about it. Handsomest. Handsomest! I think that might be the best word ever! And, to be fair, Loghain is the best at killing things. Oh, Bryce, your daughter is possibly the most delightful creature I have ever known."

Loghain scowled at his best friend, knowing this particular incident would haunt him for some time to come. Even so, he chuckled under his breath, almost in spite of himself. He couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a conversation quite this much, or laughed, genuinely laughed, as hard as he had laughed when she asked about the Spider Queen.

Maric was right, the Cousland girl was a delightful creature.

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_Note: See the "Extras" link on my profile to access a variety of artwork, maps, and other supplemental materials that accompany this story. _


	2. Are you sure we can trust them?

_**15 Bloomingtide, 9.20 Dragon  
**__**Highever Castle**_

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Rhianna stared at the food on her plate. It smelled delicious, but she had little appetite for the meal set in front of her. She was bored, and the heat from the lantern hanging nearby was making her drowsy, and she was overwhelmed by the noise in the dining room. Her mother had hosted a banquet for King Maric and Prince Cailan, inviting all the nobles sworn to Highever, and Rhianna had hardly ever seen the dining room this full before. And everyone seemed to be talking at once, which was making her head ache.

Not that she was doing any talking herself, from her seat at the far end of the head table. King Maric sat to her right, which would usually have made her happy. The king had always taken the time to talk with her, saying funny things to make her laugh, and seeming interested in what she had to say, even though she was only eight years old. Tonight however, he was deep in conversation with her parents, which was a bit puzzling. Rhianna's father and the king, along with Prince Cailan, had just returned from a three-week trip to the Orlesian capital, Val Royeaux, where they attended the coronation of the new Empress of Orlais. Surely, they'd had plenty of time to talk about all sorts of things. How did they still have so much to say to one another? Nonetheless, her father and the King sat with their heads close together, while Rhianna's mother listened in and commented occasionally.

A slight frown marred her father's expression. Whatever the king was saying, Father wasn't entirely happy about it. Something to do with Orlais, no doubt. Maybe even something to do with the "very big news" her father had hinted King Maric would announce after dinner.

What sort of news would it be? It couldn't be bad news, since King Maric had seemed quite cheerful when he had stepped onto the dock in Highever earlier in the day. If Orlais was preparing to invade Ferelden again, or something else really bad like that, the king would have been upset. So the news had to be good. Except Rhianna couldn't think of a single good thing that could have come out of a trip to Orlais.

Mostly, she wasn't very interested in what the Orlesians got up to in Orlais. So what if they had a new empress? Celene was the same age as Fergus, which meant she was probably far too young to be ruling a country as large as Orlais, but that was their problem, wasn't it? But what if this new empress had plans that extended outside her own country's borders? What if she wanted to be Queen of Ferelden, as well as being Empress of Orlais? The Orlesians hadn't done anything really mean in nearly twenty years, but surely it was smart to keep an eye on them. Just in case.

Be that as it may, Rhianna hoped her father would never again be asked to travel to Orlais. She hadn't admitted this to anyone, but she'd never been more relieved about anything in her life than when he'd returned safely this afternoon. The entire three weeks he was gone, she'd been scared she would never see him again. The Orlesians couldn't be trusted, especially this new empress of theirs, and what would have stopped them from forcing her father - and King Maric - to stay in Orlais? Imprisoned in a dungeon somewhere, or maybe even killed, and their heads stuck up on spikes at the city gates. That was what the Usurper had done to the Fereldans he'd captured during the Occupation. Put their heads on spikes right outside the walls of Denerim.

Every night while her father was away, Rhianna said a prayer to Andraste, begging the beloved Prophet to keep her father safe. Even so, she had gone to bed feeling frightened. Some of those nights she'd had horrible dreams. Dreams of blood and monsters and pitch-black tunnels under the earth, and one time a sinking ship, its top deck and masts ablaze against a darkened sky. She'd woken even more frightened than she had been the night before, convinced something horrible was going to happen, and she would never see her father again.

This afternoon, however, The_ Demelza_ had sailed into Highever, with her father and the king both safely on board. She'd felt so happy to see them, but now? As much as she tried not to listen to the conversation beside her - it was rude to eavesdrop, especially on grown-ups, and extra especially on the king – Rhianna couldn't help but hear the odd word here and there. "Orlais," and "Empress," and "Occupation," and "chevaliers." None of these words made her feel happy. And even though her father had stopped frowning, she knew him well enough to see he was still worried about something.

No one else seemed to notice. At the table nearest Rhianna, Fergus and Cailan were talking with Nathaniel Howe, the eldest of Arl Howe's three children. Just beyond them sat Arl Howe and the arlessa, a dark haired, severe-looking woman who had never spoken even one word to Rhianna, as far as she could remember. Beside Evanna Howe sat Bann Loren and his wife, Lady Landra. Landra was speaking in an especially loud voice. Probably, she was having too much to drink. Again.

Bann Franderel sat at the other table, beside Bann Ranulf and his two children, Alfstanna and Irminric. Ranulf was telling a story, a good one, judging by the way the bann was waving his arms around, and the way his audience was laughing. Bann Esmerelle was here, as well, looking dour as usual, having traveled from Amaranthine with the Howes. And of course Arl Howe's younger children, Delilah and Thomas, had come. Delilah was only two years older than Rhianna, and very nice, and the two girls had a good time playing together earlier in the day. Rhianna had taken Delilah up on top of the battlements so they could watch the ships coming in and out of the harbor, and they'd played a game with dice, and visited the pigeons in the dovecote.

Too bad Rhianna hadn't been able to sit next to Delilah at dinner. They could have whispered together about all sorts of things, which would have been nice since King Maric was too busy to talk to Rhianna at all.

"And they wear their gowns cut down to here! I swear it!" Cailan's voice rang out loudly, and Rhianna glanced over to see Fergus' eyes wide as he listened to the prince talk about his adventures in Orlais. A moment later, her eyes met Nathaniel's, and he gave her a crooked smile, and a quick wink. Rhianna grinned before looking away, her face feeling warm. Nathaniel was nice, although she didn't see him very often. She got the feeling he and his father didn't get along well, because Nathaniel hardly ever came along when the arl visited Highever. Which was a shame, since he was about the same age as Fergus, and it seemed like the two of them could have been good friends if they saw one another more often.

Then she noticed Thomas staring at her. Well, glaring, really, which was typical. He had never forgiven her for the bloody nose three years ago.

Thomas sneered and stuck his tongue out at her. After rolling her eyes dramatically, so Thomas would be certain to see even from across the room, she turned her attention back to her dinner plate. At least Habren wasn't here. Thomas was even more annoying when Habren was around.

Stifling a yawn, she poked her fork at the spiced meat on her plate, pushing it around and making designs in her peas. She glanced at her father, and then over at her mother. It was obvious they were both very distracted. Any other time, they would have frowned and scolded her about playing with her food. But she wasn't hungry any more, and she was bored, so she tried to construct a replica of Highever Castle out of her peas. It didn't work very well; she couldn't get the peas to stay stacked up without rolling all over the plate. So, instead, she arranged them in the shape of a frog. To be honest, it didn't look much like a frog. It looked like a sort of lumpy green rock, but it was still more fun than watching Thomas stick his tongue out at her.

After what seemed an eternity, the others had finally finished eating, and the dinner dishes had been cleared away.

Her father stood, and tapped a knife against his wine goblet, to get everyone's attention.

"As all of you know, King Maric and I have just returned from Orlais, where we witnessed the coronation of Her Imperial Majesty, Empress Celene of Orlais. While in Val Royeaux, we also held a series of negotiations with the new empress, and those of you here tonight will be among the first to hear some excellent news."

Bryce returned to his seat, nodding at King Maric, who stood, leaning forward to rest his hands on the table as he addressed the people gathered in the room. "The Empress intends to visit Ferelden in four months' time, the first time in nearly twenty years an Orlesian leader has paid our country such a visit. And during her visit, she and I will negotiate an agreement of peace between our two nations."

King Maric smiled widely, clearly expecting this news to be well received. Beside him, Bryce smiled just as brightly, but her father's smile looked forced. Not enough that everyone else would notice, but it was obvious to Rhianna that her father wasn't as happy about this news as the king was. Or perhaps her father just worried about what everyone else would think.

Apparently, that was a reasonable concern. The king's announcement was met with an uneasy silence.

After an uncomfortably long time, nearly half a minute, Eleanor clapped her hands once and spoke loudly, her voice carrying across the dining room. "Well done, Your Majesty! It is high time Ferelden and Orlais put behind us the arguments of the past. I have no doubt this treaty will be the start of an era of peace and prosperity for both nations."

As Maric lowered himself back into his seat, a few of the guests echoed the teyrna's sentiments, but there was another chorus of voices that sounded displeased. Whispers, quiet and urgent. The shaking of heads and shrugging of shoulders. The room seemed smaller and warmer, and even the air itself felt heavier, somehow.

A peace treaty with Orlais? That didn't sound like such a good idea. In fact, it sounded awful and dangerous.

She glanced up at the king. His confident smile had slipped away. He looked worried and more than a bit tired, and disappointed that people weren't happy about this news.

But how could he have thought we would be happy? King Maric knew better than anyone how untrustworthy the Orlesians were. He'd fought them for many years, after they'd killed his own mother.

Even so . . . he must believe this peace treaty was a good idea, or he wouldn't have invited the empress to come to Ferelden. And Rhianna's father clearly supported the king in this endeavor. Rhianna believed King Maric was trustworthy, and she knew without a doubt her father could be trusted. If they thought this would be good for Ferelden, then it must be the truth. So maybe it would be all right after all?

Around the room, people had started talking again, but neither Bryce nor the king were speaking. Rhianna reached over and put her hand on top of one of Maric's, and squeezed his fingers gently. He seemed startled at first, looking down at her hand as if wondering how it had gotten there. Then he turned to her and smiled, tiny creases forming at the corners of his eyes. He shifted his hand underneath hers so their palms were touching, and his fingers wrapped around her own.

"This treaty with Orlais?" Rhianna asked. "Is it really a good thing, Your Majesty?"

Maric placed his other hand on top of hers, sandwiching her hand between his own. "I believe it is, Rhianna. I truly do believe it is."

She leaned close and whispered, "But are you sure we can trust them?"

He smiled again, this time not deeply enough to form creases. "Honestly? No. I'm not sure." He leaned down so his face was only inches from hers. "What do you think Loghain would say if you asked him that question?"

Rhianna couldn't stop herself from chuckling. "You know as well as I do what Teyrn Loghain would say. He would _never _trust the Orlesians." Her smile faded. "What if he's right? They have done a lot of very bad things in the past."

Maric nodded solemnly. "That's true, my lady. But what if I promise we'll be careful about not trusting them too much? Not until they've earned it, anyway. How does that sound to you?"

Rhianna studied Maric's face. His eyes were bright, and he looked uncertain, but sincere. She saw he believed that what he was doing was good and right. That he was well aware of the risks, but still thought this was the best thing for Ferelden. And King Maric loved Ferelden. He would never let anything bad happen to this land or to her people. If he believed this treaty was for the best, then it must be.

"I suppose that sounds all right," she said with a shy smile.

"Good." He paused. "Because . . . I think you're going to have the chance to meet her when she comes to Denerim. Would you like that? To meet the empress?"

What? The king wanted _her_ to meet Empress Celene? That sounded . . . terrifying, but also a little bit exciting.

Before she could answer, he added, "I'd really appreciate it if you would agree to meet with her, Rhianna. Then, afterward, you can give me your opinion. Whether or not you liked her, and if you think she seems trustworthy. I would find that extremely helpful."

Rhianna looked down into her lap, feeling her cheeks grow warm. Was it possible the King of Ferelden wanted _her_ opinion about something as important as this? She glanced at him, and he was still smiling. Maybe it _was_ possible.

"Of course, Your Majesty," she agreed. "I'll be happy to meet the empress, if you want me to."

King Maric turned to her father. "Good news, Bryce." He had raised his voice enough so that others around the room could hear, and it had the desired effect. Within moments, all other conversation in the room had ceased. Maric continued, "Your daughter has just agreed to meet with Empress Celene and, afterward, share her opinions. I'll be especially interested to hear whether or not Lady Cousland feels the empress can be _trusted_." All eyes were on Maric now, or on Rhianna, and the king glanced down at her as he continued, "I hope you don't mind me sharing this, my lady?" Rhianna shook her head to indicate that, no, she didn't mind.

Looking around at the guests again, Maric continued, "Lady Cousland admitted to me she is a bit worried about this treaty business. She is . . . skeptical that we should place our trust in the Orlesians, after all that's happened in the past. I think all of us will agree her doubts are not unreasonable. Certainly, many of you sitting in this room share them, do you not?" A quiet murmur washed across the room. Yes. Clearly, others shared her doubts.

The king looked around the room, his eyes still shining with the knowledge he was doing what was right. And Rhianna knew when the others saw him, when King Maric looked at them with those same bright eyes, they would understand this too, and trust him as she did. He was the king. A good king, and a good man. A man who deserved their trust.

"Please know," he continued, looking around at each person in the room in turn, "you are not alone in this, in having your doubts. I assure you this peace treaty between our two nations does not represent a lessening of our vigilance, or the giving of any concession to Orlais that will threaten the safety or the freedom of Ferelden into the future. This much, I promise."

When he had finished speaking, he glanced at Rhianna, and winked. There was a smattering of applause, and after only a few moments of silence, the people around the tables started speaking to one another again. Rhianna could tell a difference, though, between the conversations just a few minutes ago, and the conversations now. Voices that had been hushed and complaining, were now confident, louder, more optimistic. The room seemed brighter, no longer weighed down by worries and fears. Yes, the people of Ferelden had doubts about entering into any sort of agreement with Orlais, but giving voice to those doubts had helped put them to rest. For the time being, at least.

Certainly, Rhianna felt better about everything. Partly because of the smile and wink the king had given her, and partly because of the trust he placed in her opinions.

But mostly because he was still holding one of her hands in his large, warm one.

•o•


	3. L'approache, ma jeune dame

_**21 August, 9:20 Dragon  
**__**Denerim Palace**_

•o•

_Sit still. _

_Don't fidget. _

_Sit still. Don't fidget. _

_Don't fidget and sit still. _

_This will be over soon. _

_Just keep sitting still. _

Repeating those words in her head was helping Rhianna avoid squirming around while the elven servant finished styling her hair. At least it seemed to be helping. The woman hadn't clucked her tongue and asked Rhianna to "_please,_ my lady, sit still" in several minutes.

Getting her hair done didn't hurt, exactly, although sometimes the woman did pull it too tightly. Mostly it was just boring, and Rhianna wanted to get up off the stool (which wasn't very comfortable) and run around out in the garden. Which, of course, she absolutely could not do. If Rhianna so much as set foot outside in the stupid Orlesian dress she was wearing, her mother would have a fit.

It was a horrible dress, its turquoise-colored fabric so thin and slippery it felt like she was wearing nothing more than a nightgown. Even worse, it's bodice was cut lower on the chest than anything she'd ever worn before, which made her feel uncomfortable. But she was stuck with it; her mother had _insisted_ she wear it.

"The empress will appreciate seeing an Orlesian style," her mother had said when Rhianna complained. "It will make her feel more at home here, and will help you make a good impression. You want to make a good impression, don't you?"

Rhianna did want to make a good impression, and she knew it was quite an honor to be invited to the ceremony. Only a few children were being presented to Empress Celene, and Rhianna was by far the youngest. Fergus and Anora hardly counted as children, now they were both seventeen years old. And Cailan, at fifteen, was almost a grown-up himself. So she was truly glad to be invited; she just didn't understand why she couldn't make a good impression without dressing like an Orlesian. Didn't the empress see enough Orlesian dresses and hairstyles in Orlais? And surely, it wasn't a good idea to give the woman the impression Fereldans aren't happy with the way we are, with our own clothes and hairstyles. That was the whole point of the Rebellion, after all: we wanted to be _Fereldan_, and not have Orlesian nobles bossing us around and stealing our land, or Orlesian chevaliers hitting people in the streets.

Her mother, however, had not agreed with any of these arguments, and eventually Rhianna had given up fighting about it.

She hadn't stopped hating the dress, though, and would have rebelled against all of it, no matter what her mother said, if not for the promise she'd made to King Maric back in Highever. He was counting on her to meet Empress Celene and help him decide if the woman was trustworthy. And Mother had made it clear that Rhianna would not be presented to the empress in anything but this horrible dress, with her hair done up in braids and little curls all over her head.

So, here she sat, stuck on this stool in a dress she hated, while the servant yanked and tugged at her hair, curling bits of it with a hot iron.

Rhianna took a deep breath, her nose wrinkling at the smell of burnt hair.

_Don't fidget. Sit still._

Finally, the ordeal with her hair was finished, and Rhianna's mother came to collect her from the dressing room. Together, they walked through the palace to the antechamber outside of the Great Hall. Her father was already inside, along with the king, Teyrn Loghain, and Ferelden's six arls; they had been in conference with the empress all morning. A few minutes earlier, the galleries had been opened, so the citizens of Denerim – the important ones, anyway - could witness a number of special audiences, including the presentation of the children.

As she waited outside the large hall, Rhianna watched Cailan, Fergus, and Anora Mac Tir standing together across the hallway, whispering to one another. Anora wasn't wearing stupid Orlesian clothing. She was wearing a regular Fereldan gown in soft colors, lavender and rose, and she looked very pretty, with her blonde hair coiled into the braids she always wore. Her eyes were blue, just like her father's, and sometimes Rhianna wondered if she, herself, would be even half so pretty when she was grown.

Eleanor moved in front of Rhianna, putting her hands on the girl's shoulders. "Remember to be polite," she urged, a completely unnecessary instruction, considering how much coaching Rhianna had been subjected to over the past several days. "And speak Orlesian unless the empress herself requests otherwise. You've worked so hard with your tutor, it will make a good impression to show the empress how well you speak her language."

"_Oui, Maman_," Rhianna replied. "_Je serai poli, et parler seulement l'Orlesian_."

Her mother frowned, as though Rhianna had said something cheeky, but then reached up and adjusted one of the curls at Rhianna's temple. "You look lovely, darling," Eleanor said with a sigh. "Quite . . . grown up." There was something in her mother's eyes that looked . . . sad. Perhaps something wasn't right about the way Rhianna was dressed, or the way she was standing, or her accent when she spoke Orlesian, or . . . well, she really had no idea why her mother was looking at her this way, but it made her uneasy.

"Don't worry, Mother. I promise I'll do a good job and make the empress like me. I _promise_."

"I know you will, darling." Eleanor leaned down and placed a kiss on Rhianna's forehead, and when she stood up straight again, the sad look was gone, replaced with a bright, encouraging smile. Before they had time for any more conversation, the wide doors swung open, and they were ushered into the great hall of the Denerim palace.

It was an enormous room, bigger than any Rhianna had ever entered before. At her mother's side, she tried to appear calm and dignified as she walked along the blue and gold carpet that lined the center of the room. The large cobblestones that paved the floor reflected the torchlight, and on either side, the wooden galleries were packed with Fereldan nobles and those merchants wealthy enough to warrant a seat in the hall.

Rhianna forced herself to look straight ahead, rather than scanning the crowd for familiar faces. She really did want to do her best to make this woman from Orlais like her, and make her parents and King Maric proud. So, she held her head high, in spite of the uncomfortable gown and ridiculous hair.

At the far end of the room, stairs led up to a stage upon which Maric and Empress Celene were seated, in thrones covered with dark blue velvet. The two huge hearths in the corners of the room were lit, filling the room with warm, flickering light, and tapestries hung upon the walls. Most featured the mabari rampant that was Maric's device. There were some, however, embroidered with a golden half-sun: the symbol of the Orlesian Empire.

The empress looked much older than Rhianna had expected. Celene was only seventeen – the same age as Anora – but looked at least ten years older than Loghain's daughter. The woman's blonde hair was pulled up in a far more elaborate style than Rhianna's, and she had colored paint on her face: red on her cheeks and lips, and green above her eyes. Actually, it seemed as though the empress' entire face was covered in paint the same color as her skin. Rhianna had never seen anything like it before. It looked horrible, and made the empress more than a little bit scary, like a mummer at the faire. And the neckline of Rhianna's gown was quite modest compared with Celene's.

As Rhianna reached the foot of the steps, her mother touched her on the shoulder briefly, then bowed, stepping back and leaving Rhianna alone in front of the empress and the king.

Her father, who had been sitting nearby, got to his feet. "Your Imperial Majesty, I would like to present my daughter: Lady Rhianna Elizabeth Cousland, of Highever."

Rhianna bent slowly into a low curtsey, as she had been taught, and when she raised her head again, the woman's painted lips were pressed into a thin line. It appeared as though this woman didn't like her. Which hardly seemed fair, as they hadn't even spoken to one another yet. What if the empress never even gave Rhianna a chance? Or was as horrid as stupid old Habren?

As instructed by her mother, Rhianna spoke first. "_Bonjour, votre Majesté. Bienvenue à Ferelden_."

The empress tilted her head to one side, then drew her lips back in a smile that didn't look entirely genuine.

Without changing her expression, or making any gesture with her hands, she said, "_L'approache, ma jeune dame_."

Rhianna came closer as requested, climbing the stairs without taking her eyes off of the empress except for a quick glance at King Maric. He winked at her, and smiled. Rhianna worked hard not to let it show on her face, but she was grateful for his smile. He didn't look unhappy, and he'd been with the empress all day. Perhaps this audience wouldn't be so bad, after all.

"_Vouz parlez Orlesian_?" the empress asked. One corner of her mouth twisted upward before she continued, speaking very rapidly, "_Ou, t'ont-ils enseigné juste quelques expressions pour m'impressionner_?" What an odd question. Why would the empress think someone had taught Rhianna just a few phrases in Orlesian?

"_I know how to speak Orlesian, Your Majesty_," Rhianna answered in Orlesian. "_Not just a few phrases. I have had a tutor since I was three years old_."

The empress's eyes widened slightly at this, and a slow smile crossed her lips. "_Is that so? And why is this? Why have you learned to speak my language?_"

"_My father wanted me to learn. Because we are neighbors, Your Majesty. He said it is important to be able to speak with one's neighbors, if you want to remain friends_."

At this, the empress' face broke out into what appeared, for the first time, to be a genuine smile. Turning to King Maric, she said, in heavily accented Fereldan, "This child tells me her father taught her to speak Orlesian. Because it is important to be friends with one's neighbors. I had . . . _réservations_ about this peace treaty, given the . . . _histoire_ between your country and mine. But hearing this has given me much hope for our future."

To Rhianna, once again speaking Orlesian, "_Have you ever visited Orlais_?"

"_No, your grace. My father says he will take me when I'm older. Perhaps when I'm eleven or twelve years old_." Not that Rhianna was in any particular hurry to visit Orlais. The idea frightened her.

"_Ah! That is excellent!"_ Celene replied_. "Then you are past due for a visit, judging by how grown up you look. Surely, you are at least thirteen years old now, yes? So I shall expect a visit from you very soon._"

Rhianna giggled at the empress' comment, but then stopped herself. Probably she wasn't supposed to giggle in front of the empress, especially if the comment hadn't been a joke. Maybe the woman really thought Rhianna _was_ that old. It was difficult to tell from her face, with all of the paint. "_Begging your pardon, Your Majesty . . . but I'm not thirteen. I'm only eight years old_."

Celene tossed her head back and laughed, a cascading, musical sound that must have carried to every corner of the large hall. "_I think you are teasing me, Lady Cousland. How is it possible you are so young? You speak Orlesian much better than an eight year old in your country should be able to speak it. However . . ."_ she continued, relaxing back into her chair, while she narrowed her eyes and ran her gaze over Rhianna from head to toe, "_it is true that you are a bit short for thirteen. So perhaps I will believe that you are only twelve."_ The empress winked, and Rhianna couldn't keep the surprise from showing on her face. That seemed . . . extraordinary. Was the empress joking with her? Yes, it seemed she was. And this must mean she'd been joking about Rhianna being thirteen, and had never thought Rhianna was so much older than she actually was.

With a crooked grin, Celene continued, _"Regardless of your age, my dear, you are absolutely lovely, and I intend to convince your father to bring you to visit me sometime very soon. I think you would enjoy seeing Val Royeaux, and I would enjoy showing it to you, and having you meet some of the wonderful people who live there._"

Feeling her cheeks grow warm, and a slow smile spread across her face, she replied, "_Thank you, Your Majesty. I would like to see Val Royeaux someday,_" she said, even though it wasn't entirely true.

The empress held up a finger to her face, tapping it gently against her cheekbone, as if considering something. Then she reached into a satin-covered bag which she held in her lap, and dug around inside. She retrieved a small object, made of gold.

"_Come closer, my dear, and give me your hand. I would like to give you a gift_."

Rhianna did as the empress requested, and Celene placed a golden charm directly in the center of Rhianna's palm. Rhianna picked up the charm in her fingers, and turned it around to get a closer look. It was about an inch long, a perfectly cast half-sun, set with three tiny gemstones which sparkled in the firelight.

"_Thank you, Your Majesty. It is very pretty."_ Rhianna bit her lip, suddenly nervous. Should she have brought something for the empress? "_I'm sorry I do not have anything to give you in return_."

Celene smiled again, this time with nothing but warmth, and laughed aloud before addressing her in Fereldan. "Do not be silly, _ma cherie_. Your _agréable_ conversation is gift enough. It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rhianna Cousland."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, as well, Your Majesty," Rhianna replied in Fereldan. When the empress turned her body slightly towards King Maric, Rhianna understood this to mean she was being dismissed. She glanced at her father, who gestured for her to join him. After curtseying again to the empress, Rhianna turned to walk back down the stairs, daring one more glance at the king. Maric nodded at her, just once. Judging by his grin, he was pleased with her.

When she reached her father, he pulled her up to sit in his lap so she could watch as the other young people were presented to Celene.

"Well done, Pup," he whispered. She snuggled up against him, grateful this ordeal was at an end, and that she hadn't made a complete fool of herself, or made anybody angry. At least she didn't think she'd done either of those things.

•o•


	4. A quest with Teyrn Loghain

_**22 August, Dragon Age, 9:20  
**__**Royal Palace, Denerim**_

•o•

All morning, King Maric and both of Ferelden's teyrns had been sequestered in an audience room with the empress, negotiating the terms of the peace treaty. Elsewhere in the Denerim palace, in the hallways and the library and spilling out into the palace gardens, nearly all the other nobles in Denerim waited impatiently to hear what progress was being made.

In one of the palace's sitting rooms, Eleanor Cousland was at the center of a knot of people. They hovered like hounds hoping for scraps from the table, since the teyrna was likely to be the first to hear any interesting bit of news that found its way out of the audience room. Nearby, Rhianna sat quietly in the corner, trying to read a book of Antivan fairy tales. Nearby, Habren Bryland, along with Tanith Curwen, the daughter of the Bann of Drakon River, sat near the window. The two girls had their heads together, whispering to one another. Every so often, they looked over at Rhianna and laughed, loudly enough Rhianna knew they wanted her to notice.

Very annoying.

She had tried hard for the past half an hour to ignore them, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on her book with them snickering at her. So, when her mother was deep in conversation with Lady Landra, whom Rhianna liked well enough, and Bann Esmerelle, whom Rhianna did not like whatsoever, she took the opportunity to sneak out one of the doors that led into the ornamental gardens.

There were a few people outside, but none of them had wandered very far from the palace. Rhianna wasted no time in moving deeper into the garden, where she soon found what she had been looking for: blissful quiet. No people, no talking, no harsh laughter. Nothing but birdsong, and a trickle of water flowing from a nearby fountain.

Taking a deep, satisfied breath, she threw up her arms and spun around in a little dance of happiness. She should have snuck away hours ago, to enjoy being outside with no one around to bother her or tell her what to do. Lovely. If she poked around in the bushes enough, she could probably make friends with some of the animals who lived in the garden. A hedgehog, or a fox, maybe even a badger in one of the more remote sections of the garden. That would be a wonderful way to pass the time. Her father had mentioned a duck pond; maybe she'd try and find it.

Before she'd gone more than a hundred yards from the palace, however, she rounded a curve in the path and saw a man walking in her direction. Just a moment before, the thought of spending the afternoon all by herself seemed so wonderful. Now, all thoughts of an afternoon alone vanished, and she hoped she could, instead, spend it with this particular companion.

"Teyrn Loghain!" she called out, not even trying to contain the smile that burst across her face.

Rhianna adored the teyrn. He'd been one of her heroes as long as she could remember: the main character in most of the stories she'd learned at her father's knee. The man who freed Ferelden from the Orlesian occupation. Of course, a great many people had fought in the Rebellion, but somehow it was Loghain Mac Tir whom Rhianna credited with winning the Rebellion, driving out the Orlesians, and keeping Prince Maric alive long enough to become king. He'd made the best battle plans, and organized the Night Elves, and defeated two _legions_ of chevaliers at the Battle of River Dane. Ferelden had never had a greater hero.

Then, three years ago, after that Satinalia in Denerim when she'd met him for the first time, what started out as hero-worship had grown into something else entirely. He was even more magnificent in person than he had been in the stories. Tall and solid and handsome and strong, and he'd been so gentle when he'd bandaged her arm, and then he'd told her such a wonderful story. She'd been so impressed by meeting him she'd talked about little else for weeks afterward. And then, much to her surprise and delight, Loghain had arrived in Highever, accompanying King Maric on a hunting expedition. Rhianna had been allowed to ride out with them, mounted on a twelve-year-old palfrey originally belonging to her mother, and Rhianna had rarely been as happy in all her life.

Since then, Loghain and King Maric had become regular visitors in Highever. Two or three times a year, they would arrive together, sometimes on their own, and sometimes with others - Cailan and Anora, or Cailan's uncle, Teagan Guerrin. They came to hunt or to sail or to attend one of the local festivals. Last year, they had come for the Festival of Wolves, and Loghain allowed Rhianna to sit in his lap while they watched the reenactment of Haelia Cousland's victory over the werewolves that had terrorized the Coastlands hundreds of years ago.

Regardless of the reason for the visit, Loghain always made time for Rhianna, allowing her to drag him up the battlements to see the view from the top, or out to the stables to see a new foal, or down to the mill pond to visit a family of ducklings. And they would talk together about all sorts of things. Not the boring sorts of things the other nobles wanted to talk about - salons and fashions and who was going to marry whom - but interesting things, like when the snows were expected, or how long it took puppies to wean, or where the birds went when the weather turned cold, or which mushrooms were safe to eat. Sometimes he told her stories - stories about the Rebellion, or stories he'd been told as a child. And sometimes they just walked together without saying much of anything. This was what Rhianna loved best, perhaps: being able to be quiet with someone, and not having to talk at all.

So, even though he was her hero, the real reason she adored Loghain was that he was kind to her. Well, perhaps kindness wasn't the reason; lots of people were _kind_ to Rhianna. The people in Highever - merchants and tradespeople and villagers - always had a cheerful greeting for "the teyrn's lovely daughter," but Rhianna guessed some of them only acted that way in order to stay on her father's good side. And when it came to other nobles, she didn't trust them at all. They were all unfailingly pleasant, but she never could tell if they really liked her, or if they were just pretending to be nice because someday they hoped to convince her to marry one of their sons.

She never worried about that with Loghain. Partly because he didn't have any sons, but mostly because he was nicer to her than he was to just about everyone else, including her parents. Including, even, King Maric. Which led her to believe he genuinely _liked_ her, and enjoyed her company. As a result, she adored not only the hero but also the man, and finding him in the garden just now was the best thing that could have happened.

She wanted to hear what he thought of Empress Celene, and ask him when he would be coming to Highever again, and tell him about the dolphins she'd seen last time she and Fergus had gone sailing. And . . . there was something else she needed to tell him. Something important she had wanted to say. But what was it, exactly? She searched her mind, but couldn't remember. Hopefully it would come to her while they were talking.

When she called out to him, he smiled, but not quite as broadly as usual. Perhaps something was bothering him.

So, she ran to greet him, and when she got close enough, she reached out her arms and leapt at him. He caught her in midair, swinging her into an embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against the skin just above his shirt collar, breathing in deeply the scent she had come to love. A scent that reminded her of rich, newly-turned earth, and horses, and leather, and soap, and grass, and old parchment.

Perhaps if she hugged him very, very tightly, she could chase away the gloom he'd been wearing on his face.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Loghain picked the girl up and held her close, enjoying her softness, her weight in his arms, the way her hair tickled his neck. Enjoying the pleasure of simple human contact, something that was in short supply in his life. She hugged him longer than usual, and he wondered if she was upset about something, even though she'd been all smiles when she'd greeted him. Finally, she released her hold, and he set her gently back down on her feet.

"It's good to see you, Teyrn Loghain!" she said brightly. "Although I'm surprised to find you here in the garden. Aren't you supposed to be meeting with the king, and with Father? And the empress, of course."

"I was," he replied, "but I decided I needed a breath of fresh air."

There was no reason to worry the girl by telling her he wasn't happy with the treaty being negotiated. Oh, there was much talk of "peace and amity" between the two nations, and Celene had been quick to promise that Orlais would make no move to invade Ferelden again. She had, however, been unwilling to even consider the possibility of allowing Ferelden's Grand Cleric to operate independently from the Orlesian Chantry. The Divine in Orlais had far too much influence, as far as Loghain was concerned, but it seemed that wasn't going to change anytime soon. Loghain was pleased that all lands east of the Frostback Mountains were now mutually agreed to belong to Ferelden, including Gherlen's Pass, and the small village near the entrance to the dwarven city of Orzammar. His pleasure about this was dulled, however, by the far-too-generous trade concessions Maric was offering.

But Maric made it clear he didn't want Loghain and his bad opinion of Orlais causing trouble. So, rather than continually bite his tongue when it was clear Maric wasn't going to heed his advice anyway, Loghain had decided to step out for a few minutes. Perhaps more than a few. Just being in the same room with the empress set Loghain's teeth on edge. He needed to clear his head of that woman's hideous Orlesian accent and the smell of her dreadful perfume. He planned to go back in plenty of time to make sure Maric didn't promise anything totally idiotic, but in the meantime, he would enjoy the gardens.

The sight of Rhianna should have cheered him; he was fond of the little Cousland girl. Whenever Maric dragged Loghain to Highever, on some hunting trip or another, she was always happy to see him, and had things she wanted to tell him, things she wanted to show him. He didn't mind; the girl was clever and cheerful and had an interesting way of viewing the world, all of which made her a pleasant companion. And the little adventures she initiated invariably took them out of doors, a welcome change after spending so much time in Denerim, surrounded by people.

Life at court was not ideal for a man like Loghain Mac Tir. It had been twenty years since Maric had granted Loghain the teyrnir of Gwaren for his efforts during the Rebellion, and Loghain still didn't feel entirely comfortable with this lifestyle. It certainly was no life he had ever envisioned for himself as a child. He was the son of farmers, raised to understand the turning of the seasons and the gentle demands of the earth, not the drama and machinations of politics. Even so, after the Orlesians had been ousted from Ferelden, Maric had insisted on granting Loghain the teyrnir and putting him in charge of Ferelden's armies. It was the first time in recent memory a commoner had been elevated to the nobility, and it was a somewhat bold move on Maric's part. Then again, they'd just won a war. Who was going to tell the new king he couldn't give a teyrnir to the man who'd been so instrumental in the winning of that war?

So Loghain had reluctantly agreed. He was a good advisor and general, and he knew Maric needed someone at his side who wouldn't shy away from making difficult decisions. But even though he told himself he accepted the teyrnir more for Maric's sake than for his own, it wasn't as though Loghain had some other life to go back to once the fighting had ended. His family's land had been taken by the Orlesians, and he'd stopped thinking of himself as a farmer long before he had ever laid eyes on Maric.

But even after so many years, Loghain often felt he was on the outside looking in. He didn't have patience for the petty squabbles that made up so much of what went on at the Landsmeet each year, and didn't always restrain himself from voicing his displeasure. He also had a well-deserved reputation as the king's "enforcer," which didn't do anything to improve his popularity. And of course, even if he'd been a cheerful, personable man, there was a small but vocal minority at court who would never accept him. Teyrn or not, to some of the Fereldan nobility, Loghain Mac Tir would never be more than the jumped-up son of commoners, a man who had no business ruling a teyrnir and even less being an advisor to the king. A hero? Yes. But a member of the nobility? Never. Conservatives, like the late queen's brother, Arl Eamon Guerrin, made no secret they barely tolerated his presence out of respect for King Maric.

Not that this bothered Loghain, particularly. He wasn't the sort of person who cared much for the opinions of others. But it did mean he had always been a bit wary of most of the other nobles, and had never had a surplus of friends at court.

He guessed little Rhianna Cousland was a kindred spirit in that way, although for exactly the opposite reason. Rather than being too common, she was too well-bred. Not only had she inherited an impeccable bloodline from her father, but on her mother's side she was descended from Calenhad the Great, the man who had united the Alamarri tribes four hundred years ago, becoming the first King of Ferelden. The founder of the royal Theirin line they'd all fought so hard during the Rebellion to keep alive. Truth be told, Rhianna Cousland had as much royal blood as Prince Cailan, and there were probably a fair few people, especially in the younger generation, who resented her for it.

So perhaps she was as glad as he was to get away from the constant obnoxious chatter of the nobility when they descended upon Highever, or when she was visiting Denerim with her family. Regardless of her reasons, she certainly seemed to enjoy spending time with him, and he was more than happy to let her lead him around on whatever adventures captured her fancy.

But today, for some reason, he felt vaguely unhappy with her. Annoyed, even. Perhaps it had something to do with the way in which her name had come up that morning during the negotiations with Empress Celene.

"Teyrn Bryce," the woman had purred, "I must say your daughter is an extremely charming young woman. Quite lovely to look at, and well spoken, and her command of Orlesian is most impressive. You must be very proud of her."

"I am proud of her," Bryce had replied, his eyes slightly wary. "She does her best to be a credit to Highever, and to Ferelden."

"I wonder if you have yet made an arrangement for her future. For her marriage?"

"No. I have not," the teyrn had said slowly.

"That is excellent!" Celene clapped her hands together once, in a gesture that made her seem very young. Which, of course, she was, although most of the time she seemed far older than her seventeen years. "Then, I have a proposal to make. I have a cousin, my first cousin, who lives in Val Chevin. He is a very charming, very handsome man, and next in line for the throne if something, Maker forbid, were to happen to me before I have children of my own. A marriage between my cousin and your daughter would greatly benefit both of our countries. And it would show dedication on both sides to this peace we all want so very much. It would please me greatly to include such an arrangement in this treaty we are negotiating."

Just the fact the empress had any cousins left had come as a surprise. She hadn't been first in line to inherit from her uncle Florian - far from it - and it was widely speculated she only ascended the Orlesian throne after eliminating all other family members who stood in her way. After spending the morning with her, Loghain believed her quite capable of such treachery. There was something hard and steely about the woman. Underneath all of her smiles and silks and curls, she was ruthless and tenacious. Good qualities in a ruler, but not so attractive in an enemy. And there was no doubt this woman, peace treaty or not, was still an enemy to Ferelden.

And she had set her sights on Rhianna Cousland.

Fortunately, Bryce had been quick to refuse. "I am truly honored, Your Majesty, that you hold my daughter in such high esteem. And I have no doubt your cousin would make an excellent husband for her. However, my daughter is too young for me to consider any such arrangement. And even were she older," he had added, "my wife and I have always preferred the idea of a domestic marriage for her."

For a moment, Loghain thought Celene was going to argue; after all, the first part of Bryce's refusal wasn't even remotely true. Rhianna was more than old enough to be betrothed. Too young to be sent off to Orlais to be married right away, perhaps, but certainly old enough for an arrangement to be put into place.

Rather than trying to convince him, though, Celene had smiled, and inclined her head in submission. The look in her eyes, however, suggested she had no intention of giving up on the idea so easily.

Loghain looked down at Rhianna now, as she regarded him with her green eyes and her ready smile. She had no idea she was already being thought of as a political pawn, but perhaps she wouldn't be surprised. She was the daughter of a teyrn; such was her lot in life.

"I hope the empress isn't being horrible to you," she said. "I don't expect you're her favorite person, after all, seeing as you're the one who threw the Orlesians out all those years ago."

Before he could respond, she drew in a quick breath. "Oh!" she said, her eyes darkening beneath her furrowed brows. "Teyrn Loghain," she began, her voice low and intense, "I've just remembered something I wanted to say to you."

Whatever it was, it seemed to have unsettled the girl. "What is it?"

"Well . . . um . . ." she began, hesitantly, as if unsure how to continue. She took in a deep breath, and let it out again. "My mother told me what happened . . . to . . . to your wife. That she was ill last winter, and died just after the first of Haring."

Loghain blinked, feeling almost lightheaded. Maker's blood. This was the last thing he would have expected, for the girl to bring up Celia's death. He took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Rhianna continued, her eyes staring unflinchingly into his own. "For you, and for Anora." She glanced away. "I need to remember to say this to her as well," she added, almost more to herself than to Loghain. Then, she held his gaze again. "I can't imagine what it must be like for you, how I would feel if someone I loved - one of my parents, or my brother - were to die. All I know is I would be so, so sad." She took a breath. "Even though I never met your wife, I'm sorry she's gone. And I wanted to you to know I said a prayer for her, to Andraste. Mother Mallol - she's our Chantry sister in Highever - says Andraste always listens to those sorts of prayers." Then, the girl fell silent, chewing at her bottom lip.

Loghain felt an ache, an almost physical pain in his chest. Of loss, of regret. Of guilt so fresh and hot that for a moment his vision clouded with the intensity of it.

Celia's passing had been unexpected. Except it hadn't been. When he reread things she had sent him over the past year, he realized she'd been ill on and off for months, even though she tried to downplay it in her letters. This variety of illnesses had weakened her enough that, when a ship sailed into Gwaren carrying goods tainted by the plague, she fell ill and was gone in only a few, brief days. So quickly that the messenger with Anora's letter saying her mother was ill had arrived in Denerim just hours before the one carrying word that Celia was dead.

His wife had been ill for months, and he should have realized. He _would_ have realized if he'd paid more attention. But he hadn't paid attention, and he hadn't left Denerim to make the trip to Gwaren to see her. To be there for her, to see her one last time and say goodbye. It had been two years, nearly three, since he had seen his wife. The way that must have made her feel, especially near the end, when she'd known she was dying . . . his gut clenched at the thought of it, and he closed his eyes for a moment, again willing himself to breathe slowly, deeply, one breath at a time.

Damn! Why were these feelings plaguing him now? The girl was not the first to offer her condolences. He had received a great many, from just about every noble in Ferelden, and more than a few of his soldiers as well. Some of them even sounded genuine. But none of the others managed to penetrate the way Rhianna's had. Perhaps because just about everyone else had surely guessed that Loghain Mac Tir hadn't had anything resembling a happy marriage. How could he, when he lived in Denerim, and his wife lived in Gwaren, the distance between them far greater than the mere miles between the two cities?

But whatever tragedy he had made of his marriage, he didn't want to think about that now. He'd been avoiding these thoughts, these feelings, for months, and didn't intend for that to change. Not yet. Certainly not right now. Not with this Maker-damned treaty in the works, and Maric seeming happy to agree to whatever that wretched Orlesian woman asked of him.

When he opened his eyes, Rhianna was looking up at him, still frowning slightly. She knew nothing of the shambles his marriage had become; her words had been meant to comfort him, spoken for no reason other than kindness. He needed to say something in return.

"Yes, I'm sure you're right," he said, with a surprisingly harsh edge to his words. "Andraste would have been happy to receive prayers for Celia." Another breath. "And thank you for saying one," he added, willing his voice to be gentle.

"You're welcome." She looked down at the ground for a moment, kicking at the gravel on the path with the toe of one of her shoes. Finally, she spoke again. "I wondered when I was going to see you." She glanced up at him before looking away again. "I was afraid we might to return to Highever before I got the chance."

"Well, we couldn't let that happen, could we?" There was a bit of a sneer in his voice.

What in the Maker's name was wrong with him? Why was he speaking to this child in such an unkind manner? Something was bothering him, not just about Celia, but something about the girl as well.

"I know we didn't talk," he continued, "but I did _see_ you yesterday. When you were presented to Empress Celene."

She didn't seem to notice his discomfort. "Yes, I saw you there as well. When you introduced Anora to the empress. And of course, you would have been there anyway. There's hardly anyone in Ferelden more important than you." She paused, chewing at her lip again. "So what did you think of her? Of the empress, I mean?"

"What do I think? I think she is very young and . . ." he trailed off, not sure what else he could say without making it obvious he disliked the woman. Then again, it's not as though anyone would be surprised to hear it, so he finished the thought. "I think she is very young, and probably wants to rule Ferelden, as her cousin Meghran did." The girl's lips tightened, and her eyes narrowed. "To be perfectly honest, I don't really trust her."

"I don't think anyone expected _you_ to trust her," she said, the hint of a grin playing across her lips. "But I agree with you. I don't trust her either. That's what I told King Maric when he asked me about it yesterday evening." Well, the girl had good instincts, at any rate, even without knowing Celene wanted to marry her off to some wretched Orlesian cousin. And Maric had asked Rhianna for her opinion? That was . . . interesting.

Loghain raised a brow as he considered the girl. "You seemed to get along with her quite well, though," he said, a touch of resentment bubbling up inside of him. "She clearly enjoyed talking with you. And I saw she gave you a gift." A golden charm of some sort, according to Maric, although Rhianna didn't appear to be wearing it now. "I had no idea you spoke Orlesian so remarkably well," he drawled. "I didn't understand more than a few words of what was being said."

She laughed. "Oh, that. I've had a tutor since I was three. Father insisted. You didn't miss much, though, I promise. We didn't talk about anything interesting. She asked me if I'd been to Orlais, and I told her I hadn't, and she thought I was thirteen, and I had to tell her I was only eight, and then she invited me to visit her in Val Royeaux, and she gave me a golden charm in the shape of a half-sun. It's very pretty, with gemstones in it, but I can't imagine when I'll ever want to wear it." She looked up at him, her eyes wide. "The half-sun is the symbol of Orlais, you know."

"Yes. I know."

Before he could say anything else, she continued, "Like I said, I think you're right about her. I mean honestly, why would she think a girl from Ferelden would want to wear the symbol of Orlais? Doesn't that seem strange? The Rebellion wasn't so long ago that everyone has forgotten. I wasn't even born yet, and I know all about it. But even if she had given me something more useful, I don't think I would have liked her any better. She had so much paint on her face I couldn't even tell what she looks like. She seemed pretty, in a way, but also kind of scary. How can you trust someone when you can't see her face?"

Rhianna's expression was earnest, her eyes wide, and her lips slightly parted. Loghain gave her a strained smile, feeling a bit battered by the speed of the girl's narrative, and only half aware that she'd ended it by asking a question.

It was a good question, however. How _could_ you trust someone when you couldn't see her face. Especially when that someone was venomous and foreign, dressed up in finery the likes of which had not been seen in Ferelden in a generation . . .

Oh, Maker's balls. That was it! The reason he'd been so uncomfortable. It wasn't anything to do with the empress and the marriage she was trying to arrange. It was Rhianna herself. The way she'd been dressed the previous day, her hair pulled up into a ridiculous style, wearing an Orlesian gown that barely covered her shoulders. She'd looked like a child prostitute on some wharf in Antiva, not a proper Fereldan girl. And she'd spoken such perfect Orlesian. That's why Loghain had been angry.

Which, of course, was completely ludicrous. Being angry? With _Rhianna_? An eight-year-old girl who had surely not chosen either the clothes or the hair for herself. If she spoke Orlesian, it's because her father had insisted she learn, and she was a clever person who liked doing things to the best of her ability. And it certainly wasn't her fault Celene had taken notice.

No, Rhianna wasn't responsible for any of this, and having ill feelings toward her was utterly uncalled for. Loghain took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, feeling better, calmer, having identified the source of his discomfort.

"I think you're quite right," he replied, any hint of unkindness gone. "It is difficult to trust someone who covers her face in paint. Perhaps that's part of the reason I didn't like her much, either." He paused, remembering something the girl had said. "The empress wants you to visit Val Royeaux?"

"Yes. She said she wanted me to see things there, and to meet people." Of course the empress wanted Rhianna to meet people. One person in particular, anyway. "She thinks I would like Orlais," Rhianna continued, "but she's wrong about that." She leaned forward, and continued in a whisper. "If you want to know the truth, I'm scared at the thought of going."

"Scared? Why?"

Rhianna looked up at him, wrinkling her nose. "What do you mean, why? You know better than anyone why. Because what if they won't let me come home? What if they throw me in a dungeon, or chop off my head? I was afraid that's what was going to happen to Father and King Maric when they went earlier this year. I don't want to go to Orlais. Not ever. It's not safe, not for Fereldans!"

Maker's blood. Her eyes were wide and bright, and there was tension at the corners of her mouth. She really was afraid. Not that he could blame her; he certainly had no intention of going to Orlais. Not ever. And he supposed it was possible that if she traveled to Orlais, Rhianna might be coerced into staying, and forced into a marriage she clearly would not welcome. But it was also quite obvious the girl had taken some of the stories of the Rebellion a bit too much to heart. As much as he disliked the woman, Loghain was sure Celene had no intention of murdering Rhianna Cousland if she visited Val Royeaux.

Which probably would happen eventually. Bryce, while no fan of Orlais, wasn't quiet about his desire for relations to be better between the two nations. This wasn't unreasonable; not only was Highever close to Orlais, but the city's position on the coast made her vulnerable. Highever would likely be the first place to be attacked if things got out of hand again with Orlais. Perhaps that is why he had insisted that his daughter learn to speak Orlesian. Not Fergus, though. Loghain had noticed the lad spoke only Fereldan when he was presented to the empress. So, why should the child who would likely inherit the teyrnir not learn Orlesian as well? Perhaps Bryce hadn't been entirely honest earlier in the day, and he did intend a foreign marriage for the girl. Or wanted to leave the door open for one, in any case.

The truth was that finding a good marriage for Rhianna Cousland wasn't going to be easy. With her impressive bloodline, there was no one in Ferelden she could marry as an equal. But surely, even if a foreign match was what Bryce wanted for the girl, there were other places to go besides Orlais. Loghain's breath caught in his chest at the thought of Rhianna being sent off to marry this Orlesian cousin, who was certain to be foppish, with powdered hair and fancy clothes. A husband who might well forbid her from speaking her own language, who might never allow her to return home. The girl was proud to be Fereldan; being exiled from her homeland would crush her. And being wed to a relation of Empress Celene might prove dangerous, in the long run, if the woman really was as ruthless as Loghain believed her to be.

Thank the Maker Anora's future was secured. Sometime after Cailan came of age, Anora and the prince would be married, an arrangement that had been made years ago, when both of them were children. Fortunately, now they were grown they genuinely liked one another; Loghain honestly wasn't sure how he would have responded if his daughter had begged him not to force her to marry Maric's son.

Of course, his own daughter's security came, to a certain degree, at Rhianna Cousland's expense. If Rhianna had been born a few years earlier, before Maric and Loghain had made the arrangement between their children, it is almost certain she would be the one betrothed to Cailan. A match many Ferelden nobles would have found preferable. Anora, after all, was the granddaughter of farmers and carpenters. A match Rhianna would almost certainly have found preferable to being married off to some royal cousin in Orlais.

He shook his head, which was starting to hurt. Or perhaps it was still sore from the smell of Celene's perfume. Regardless of the girl's fluency in Orlesian, Bryce had said he wasn't interested in the arrangement Celene had suggested. For Rhianna's sake, Loghain hoped the girl's father stuck to that decision. But regardless of what the Couslands decided, it was hardly any of Loghain's concern.

Rhianna was staring at him, waiting for a response. He really needed to pull himself together. There were too many thoughts in his head at the moment, uncomfortable thoughts, but he wanted to put them all aside, and say something to ease her fears. And then, perhaps, he would change the subject. Talk about something pleasant. Just what had she been doing out in the garden, anyway? Surely, it wouldn't take much to convince her to go on some sort of little adventure with him. Something to take his mind off of . . . everything else. For a little while, at least.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Rhianna felt a bit . . . hollow as she looked up at Loghain. He was staring at her strangely, and it had been at least a minute since he'd last spoken. Maybe he thought she was stupid for worrying about having her head chopped off?

As if he'd read her mind, he said, "I'm sure the empress's invitation to visit was genuine, and she intends you no . . . harm. After all, both your father and the king were treated quite well on their visit, weren't they?"

"Yes," she admitted. "Father said they stayed in the palace, and were taken to see all sorts of lovely things, and invited to parties, and the coronation was one of the most amazing things he'd ever seen."

"There, you see?" He rested his hand on one of her shoulders. "I don't trust her, nor should you, but I don't think you need to be frightened of her, either. Just . . . cautious. Does that make sense?"

"Yes. I suppose you're right." It did make sense, but if anyone else had said it, she wouldn't have believed them. Hearing it from Loghain meant something, though. She knew he took Orlais, and whatever threat the empress might pose, very seriously. So if he said she was safe, then she was.

A hint of a smile crossed his face, as he looked at her through narrowed eyes, "But enough about Orlais, and the empress. Let's talk about something else, shall we?" He cocked his head to one side. "Why had you come out to the garden in the first place? Were you looking for someone?"

"No, not really. Mother's been busy all morning, and Habren and Tanith were whispering things to one another about me and laughing, so I came out here hoping to find someone friendly to play with. Maybe some kittens, or a badger. There are often kittens to be found in the garden at Highever. I thought I might have the same luck here."

He raised an eyebrow. "Kittens?"

"Yes."

"Well, had you found any?"

"No, ser," she replied. "I'd only just come outside when I found you."

"Well then," he said, his voice especially deep and gravelly, "it appears you and I have found ourselves a quest for the afternoon. To find some kittens. Or die trying. I trust you are up to the challenge?"

Rhianna giggled. He was so silly sometimes. Loghain Mac Tir - the Teyrn of Gwaren, the Hero of River Dane, the most celebrated warrior in all of Ferelden in a hundred years - intended to go looking for kittens? Well, silly though it may be, she certainly wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to go on a quest with Teryn Loghain. (That had a nice sound to it: a quest with Teyrn Loghain).

"Yes, ser," she affirmed. "Of course I will accept this challenge. But I think perhaps we needn't limit ourselves to just kittens. Especially if you meant that bit about 'die trying.'"

"Do you doubt my word?" One of his eyebrows curved upward as he stared at her through narrowed eyes. "Of course I meant it." He leaned toward her, a severe frown on his face. "I thought you were an intrepid adventurer, Lady Cousland, not one to shy away from things just because it meant putting your life on the line." He tried to keep the frown plastered on his face, but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching in an effort not to smile.

"Oh, I'm not shying away from putting our lives on the line," she explained, forcing her own expression to remain serious as well. "It's just I'm not sure it's the right season for kittens, and it would be silly to go to our deaths for not finding any if there simply weren't any to be found. Besides, a fox, or a badger, or a nest of quail would also be lovely. I know we'll find someone interesting if we search long enough."

He stood straight again, towering over her. "Fair enough," he said. "I suppose there's no harm in making this a more generalized quest, if you think it wise." He winked at her, and finally allowed the smile to creep across his face. "In any case, I definitely think you should lead the charge. I expect you are much better at this sort of thing than I am."

"I expect I am," she agreed, quite certain it was true. Rhianna had a way with animals.

Very pleased with this new plan, she slipped her hand into his, and led him down the path away from the palace.

They talked about nothing in particular as they wandered through the huge garden. Every so often, they would stop to check behind a tree, or peek into a shrubbery that looked particularly promising, searching for things with fur or feathers hiding within. Sooner or later, they'd find an animal of some sort; Rhianna could sense a variety of creatures going about their business all around them.

But truthfully, even though she would have never admitted this to Loghain, she didn't care whether or not their quest was successful. What did it matter if they found kittens? Or a fox, or even a badger? Animals were lovely, but she was perfectly content roaming around the garden with one of her favorite people in all the world. Especially now that he no longer seemed troubled by whatever had been bothering him when she first came upon him in the garden.

Maybe that hug she had given him had cheered him enough, after all.

•o•


	5. A litter of kittens

TRIGGER WARNING: Please scroll to the bottom for details about potentially triggering content.

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_**26 August, Dragon Age, 9:20  
**__**Denerim**_

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Rhianna sat at the desk in her bedroom, a map of southern Thedas spread out in front of her.

Yesterday, the Orlesian empress departed on a ship headed for Val Royeaux; today, both of Rhianna's parents were at the center of a flurry of activity, as the other nobles in Denerim eagerly sought out gossip and news and speculations about Celene's visit. As a result, no one was paying any attention at all to Rhianna, who decided to make herself scarce, just in case someone decided she ought to be on hand to entertain guests. So, first thing in the morning, she borrowed a few maps from her father's study, and hurried up to her room.

Rhianna loved maps, and found them endlessly fascinating. There was something very satisfying about seeing the distances between landmarks, and reading the names of places from stories and history books. She loved the beautiful colors, and the intricate, lovingly-painted designs along the margins and in the legends. Most of all, she loved running her fingers over the thick parchment, touching the places she had visited, and tracing the lines of roads and coastlines and mountain ranges to places she hoped to visit in the future.

Placing her finger at Denerim, she traced the path she guessed the empress's ship would travel. Where was the ship now? How far would a ship like that travel in twenty-four hours? Had it gone past Amaranthine yet? Maybe even all the way past Highever? Probably not as far as Highever, although she really had no idea how long such things took. She'd never sailed from Denerim to Highever; they'd always ridden in a carriage. She did know how long it took her and Fergus to sail their small boat to each of the islands off the coast of Highever, but those distances were small compared to how far the empress's ship would travel. Perhaps she could find a sea captain to ask, if her father took her along to the Gnawed Noble, where he often went for lunch or dinner while in Denerim. Or to the Drunken Wolf in Highever. Yes. She would talk to a sea captain about this, sometime in the future. That was a solid plan. Maybe even tonight; her father had mentioned something about going to the tavern later in the day.

_Clink._

A sound at her bedroom window, caught her attention. Glancing at the window, she didn't see anything at first. Then . . . movement. Something small and dark, accompanied by another sharp _clink_ as an object hitting the glass. She stood and peered out of the window onto the garden below. What was it that hit the window? Not a bird - the object had been far too small. Maybe a pebble, but who could have thrown it? No one was in view.

There was something new in the garden, however. Something light-colored on the ground next to one of the rose bushes. It looked like a piece of parchment, rippling in the slight breeze.

A parchment in the garden? That was . . . odd. Probably, it would be a good idea to go out and investigate.

She didn't encounter anyone on the trip downstairs; even the servants seemed to be off gossiping. And outside, sure enough, there was a note held in place by a rock:

"_Go to the basement under the old guard tower behind the Chantry. There you'll find a litter of kittens who have lost their mother and need your help."_

A note about kittens? This, too, was odd. Who could have put it here?

And was it meant for her? Probably. Just about everyone who knew Rhianna also knew how much she liked animals. But why wouldn't the person who had written the note just knock on the door and tell her about the kittens in person? The whole thing seemed very strange.

Still . . . kittens. Without their mother, they would almost certainly die. She should try to find them.

She folded the note carefully, and tucked it into a pocket in her gown. Then she went inside to find her mother.

Eleanor was in the study, surrounded by half a dozen people, one of whom was speaking in a rather loud, rather whiny sort of voice. It was Lady Landra, and Eleanor was patting her on the shoulder, apparently trying to convince her of something. Rhianna stood in the doorway, and waited until her mother had seen her. But when she caught Eleanor's eye and began to move forward, her mother frowned, and shook her head at Rhianna, waving a hand to make it clear she did not want the girl to enter the room. Rhianna stopped, biting her bottom lip and bouncing on her heels a few times, willing her mother to understand Rhianna had something really important to tell her. But Eleanor just gave her daughter a stern look, shook her head again, and pointed to the door.

With a sigh, Rhianna left the study. What should she do? Her parents had told her plenty of times she wasn't to leave the estate by herself. In Highever, she was allowed to go wherever she liked, as long as she was home before dark. But in Denerim, things were much more strict. There were bandits in Denerim, and thieves and vagrants (whatever that meant) and people carrying horrible diseases, and possibly even kidnappers. Or so Mother and Father said. Surely, her parents were exaggerating the dangers. No one had ever been mean to her before when she'd been out in the city. She knew how to get to the Denerim marketplace, and the Chantry was just beyond that. Most important, this seemed like an emergency. Certainly, her parents would understand that the kittens needed her. They might be so small they were already starving without their mother! She had to try and find them, as soon as possible.

She left the estate through the front door and walked out into the city. There were only a few people on the streets, and they mostly walked quickly, with their heads down, except for one woman who was coughing violently into the sleeve of her dress. Rhianna started toward her, thinking perhaps she needed help, but the woman stopped coughing and pushed past before Rhianna could speak to her.

Twenty minutes later, she reached the bridge that spanned the Drakon River. Clouds darkened the sky, and she shivered in her short-sleeved gown. It was much cooler than it had seemed in the garden. Why hadn't she remembered to wear a shawl? Or to bring a basket for carrying the kittens? Maybe she should go home and get some supplies . . . but it was a long way to walk back.

No, there had to be some other way to get the kittens home once she had found them. Perhaps someone in the market would loan her a basket, if she asked very nicely.

Halfway across the bridge, she stopped to peer over the side into the water. It was murky and brown, and didn't appear to be flowing very quickly. How deep was it to the bottom? She looked around for a stone; it would be fun to throw one just to hear it splash, but none were lying nearby. Holding onto to the stone railing, she leaned even farther out over the water, looking for fish. There weren't any. It wasn't really a very nice river. It looked much prettier outside the city, where the water was clear and there were fish and ducks and swans and turtles.

She continued on into the marketplace. Hardly anyone was in the market. In fact, she'd never seen it this deserted before. It appeared as though all of Denerim was indoors today, discussing the empress's visit and the peace treaty and what it might mean for Ferelden. Something cold and wet landed on her arm; it was starting to rain. Within moments, she was being pelted with large raindrops that dampened her hair and her gown. She hurried through the market place and past the Chantry, wanting to get inside the guard tower. No wonder the market was so deserted. Probably everyone else was indoors, just to stay warm and dry.

She made it to the guard tower with no trouble, proud of herself for finding it so easily. When she pulled on the door handle, it opened with a soft creak. Inside, the light was dim, but the air felt slightly warmer. With a quick glance at the street behind her, she stepped through the door, leaving it open in her wake.

In front of her was a hallway leading to a closed door at the end. To the right, a staircase wound up, while to the left, another spiraled downward. The one going down was lit by torches that cast a warm, flickering light. She had expected guards, but she saw no one, nor were there any voices or footsteps or noises of any kind at all, either above or below. Maybe this tower was not being used anymore? That didn't seem right, though, considering all the torches. Someone must have been here today to light them.

Her stomach felt hollow, and not just from skipping lunch. She was starting to have second thoughts. No one knew she had come here, and she probably wasn't supposed to be in here without permission. Still, she'd come all this way. Surely it wouldn't take more than a few minutes to find the kittens; the tower didn't look very big from the outside. It would be silly not to continue.

Besides, she was brave. At least she wanted to be brave, and finding the building deserted hardly seemed a reason to be afraid. If she'd found monsters or bandits, that would be different, but just think how everyone would laugh at her if they knew she'd been scared because it was so quiet!

The note said the kittens were in the basement, so Rhianna made her way down the left-hand set of stairs. Good thing there were torches here, every few feet, lighting her way. It would have been really scary without them. She wasn't terribly fond of the dark, although she never admitted that to anyone.

At the bottom of the stairs, she found herself in a hallway. Two rooms opened off it to either side, and another door stood at the far end. The inside dimensions here seemed larger than the tower above. She must be underground.

"Hello?" Her voice bounced off the stone walls and returned, sounding small and scared. She didn't like that, so she spoke again, a little louder this time, "Hello? Is there anyone here?"

After the echo of her own voice died away, her question was met with nothing but silence.

Moving slowly, she peeked into each of the dark rooms off of the hallway, but didn't see any sign of the kittens, or of any other people, for that matter. There was a thick layer of dust on the sparse furnishings, as if the tower had been abandoned some time ago. At the far end of the hallway, the door was partially open. Unlike the rooms off the main hallway, this room was lit with a single torch, right next to the door. She pushed the door open wide enough to step through.

She was in a square room with several doors set into the far walls. Small cells, probably, like those she'd seen in the dungeon below Highever Castle. Cells where prisoners could be locked up, not that she'd ever seen anyone actually locked up in one of them. There was a table in the center of the room, and a couple of wooden chairs, all covered in dust like everything else in this place.

She heard something behind her, back the way she had just come: a soft thud, and a sibilant whisper. She couldn't tell if it was a voice, or perhaps something being dragged across the stone. She whirled around and looked back down the hallway, but saw nothing that hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Hello?" she called out again. "Is someone there?" Her heart thumped in her chest, her breath quickened, and the strange feeling in her stomach was stronger than before. Perhaps this hadn't been such a good idea, after all. She was about to leave, to run back up the stairs and out into the market square, or maybe even into the Chantry, when she heard another sound. This one, she recognized. A faint, thin mewling, probably in response to Rhianna's own voice.

The kittens! She'd found them.

Sighing with relief, she crossed the room toward the sound. She saw nothing in the first cell, nor in the second, but in the third one she checked, there it was. Not a litter, but just one kitten: a small grey tabby, laying awkwardly in the far corner of the cell. Rhianna rushed inside, kneeling on the ground beside the kitten.

Something was wrong; its leg was bent at an unusual angle. When she slid her fingers under the tiny, warm body, a vision exploded in her mind: a flash of movement, a booted foot, and then pain. She was accustomed to these visions; she'd had them many times before. Whenever she touched an animal, she knew how it was feeling, or what it was thinking, or what it wanted from her: food, or a good scratch behind the ears. She didn't even have to touch them most of the time and she could tell. But she'd never experienced anything quite this vivid before.

In any case, she knew exactly what had happened to the kitten: someone had kicked him, hard.

As gently as possible, she cradled the kitten in her hands, and held him close to her chest. "It's all right, little one. We'll find someone to help you."

Before she was able to get back up to her feet, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye: the door to the cell slamming shut. She heard the scratch of metal against metal, as if a key were being turned in the lock. Then, heavy footsteps running away, and suddenly the room was plunged into darkness. There was a metallic slam and a few heartbeats later, she heard another, similar sound, but fainter. The outer door to the tower perhaps? The one she'd left open behind her.

"Wait!" she cried out, scrambling to her feet, the kitten still cradled in her arm. "I'm in here! Please, come back!" Once on her feet, she wanted to run toward the door, but it was so dark in the room she couldn't see anything at all. She swayed forward, but her feet remained planted on the floor. Out of some instinct, her limbs had refused to propel her through the darkness, and she found herself frozen in place. She put her arm out in front of her and felt nothing but air. Bringing her hand directly in front of her face, she wiggled her fingers, but still couldn't see anything – no fingers, no movement, nothing at all. It was absolutely pitch black in the room.

For several breaths, she stood completely still, disoriented, and afraid to move, afraid to make any sound at all. But if she didn't make any noise, no one would know she was down here.

"_Please_!" she cried at the top of her lungs. "Please don't go! I'm in here! Please, come back and let me out!"

She remembered a small opening in the door at about the height of her shoulders, covered with metal bars, but in the complete darkness she could see neither inside nor outside of the cell. Hugging the kitten to her chest, she reached out with her other hand, feeling the air and shuffling her feet forward without lifting them off of the floor. She moved forward inch by inch until her hand found the cool, smooth wood of the door. When she leaned against it gently with her shoulder it didn't budge at all. She leaned against it harder, pushing and pushing repeatedly, but still it didn't give.

Her breath caught in her chest, and fear washed over her. She was trapped, locked away in the dark. No one knew where she was, and she didn't know how she would ever get out.

She slammed her shoulder against the door, this time with the force of all her weight.

A flash of pain exploded in her shoulder, and shot down her arm and across her back. She cried out, collapsing against the door, whimpering and waiting for the pain to subside. That had been a bad idea, and stupid of her to try. This was a prison of some sort, built to keep criminals inside. How was an eight-year-old girl supposed to break down the door?

When the pain in her shoulder had dulled, she ran her hand against the door. It was smooth - the wood felt old and well-worn - except for occasional rough patches which she tried to avoid, so she wouldn't get splinters in her fingers. She felt around where she thought a door handle might be, but there was nothing but a small hole, ringed with metal – the backside of the lock that kept her trapped inside. Sliding her hands toward the center of the door, her fingers felt the rim of the rectangular opening and its solid metal bars. She grasped each of them in turn, pulling and twisting, to see if they would budge. Tiny flakes of dirt or rust rained down on her arms, but the bars held tight.

She gasped out loud, her breath coming fast and heavy as she tried not to panic again. Her shoulder still ached from the last time. With one balled-up fist, she pounded on the door as hard as she could.

"Please! Please, someone help me! I'm locked in! _Please_!" She kept pounding until a whimper from the kitten got her attention. She turned and leaned back against the door of the cell, and focused on the tiny, warm creature in her arms.

"Poor little love," Rhianna whispered, her fingers gently exploring the kitten's small body. "You've been in here even longer than I have." She felt around the kitten's head, and behind his tufted ears, scratching him softly and being rewarded with what might have been a faint purr. Her fingers gently prodded his back legs, but when they reached his belly, he kicked at her, and whined softly. She thought of the booted foot she had seen in her vision. He'd been injured. Maybe some of his ribs were broken, and probably his front leg. It had looked wrong, when there had still been light to see by.

A sob escaped her throat, and hot tears formed in her eyes. Someone had done this deliberately, wounded this helpless animal on purpose. Maybe even the same person who had left the note in her garden. And now she and the kitten were trapped in here in the dark.

Rhianna fought back the urge to vomit, feeling more alone, and smaller, and more helpless than she had ever felt before. She began crying in earnest. Her legs refused to hold her weight, and she slid down the cell door until she was sitting on the dirt floor, and then instantly regretted it. Her mother would be furious with her for getting her dress so filthy.

Unless she never saw her mother ever again.

What if no one ever found her, and she was locked down here in the dark forever?

Tears streamed down her face, dropping onto the kitten's grey fur.

When she stopped crying, she blinked a few times and opened her eyes. Perhaps they would have adjusted to the dark by now . . . but no, they hadn't. She still could see absolutely nothing. In some places, she thought the darkness looked particularly dark, but she wasn't able to distinguish any shapes whatsoever. In her arms, the kitten was mostly still, stirring only occasionally and mewling in pain. If only she had something to feed him; he'd been away from his mother so long. She was hungry, too. It had been stupid to leave the house without first having any lunch.

Rhianna cradled the kitten in her arms, stroking his fur as gently as she could, wanting to soothe without causing additional pain. Occasionally, she would see a thought in her mind, of a dimly-lit place, with furry companions and the warm smell of milk. The kitten's memories of his litter mates and his mother. How had he gotten separated from them? Cruel hands pulling him away and stuffing him into something small and dark. Then, the booted foot kicking him, and leaving him lying in the corner of this miserable cell. Poor thing. This was as horrible for him as it was for her, even more so, as he was in pain from his injuries.

She shivered. Her dress felt cold and clammy, and it was so dark in here, so unrelentingly dark. It was disorienting to blink her eyes and see no difference when she opened them again, and to see no difference when she turned her head from side to side.

Suddenly, she felt the need to urinate, quite strongly. How was she supposed to do that? Here, in the dark? There was no privy, no chamber pot. Nothing. Rhianna began to whimper softly with each exhalation, short sounds that lengthened into prolonged moaning, and soon she was sobbing again, crying tears that felt hot against her cool skin. The feeling of pressure, and slightly of pain, became stronger. She couldn't possibly keep holding it. Who knew how long it would be before someone found here in here? So she would just have to . . . do it. Right here, in the cell.

She got to her feet, and felt her way around to the back of the cell. She struggled to pull up her skirt and tug her smallclothes down around her ankles, all the while holding the kitten with one arm. Squatting near the floor, she relieved herself, wrinkling her nose at the sharp smell of her own urine. She felt better though, afterward, and hurried to tug her smalls back into place; the cool air felt unpleasant on her bare bottom.

Moving back to the door, she felt every inch of it with her fingers, looking for any way she might be able to free herself. When she found the backside of the lock again, she poked her index finger into the hole. The key was there, close enough she could just barely feel the edge of it, where it sat perched inside the lock. Mocking her, almost, so close that she could touch it, but not use it to open the door. She tried her pinkie finger, and found it fit much better into the hole. Slowly, she pushed at the key until it fell away from her, out of the lock, and hit the floor outside her cell with a sharp _thunk_.

She dropped to her knees, feeling frantically at the bottom edge of the door. If she could just reach underneath somehow . . . but no, the space between the door and the floor wasn't wide enough for even one of her fingers, let alone her entire arm. The same was true at the edges of the door.

Sobbing in disappointment, she collapsed back onto the floor. Why was this happening? Why did someone want to lock her away in here? Could it have happened accidentally? That seemed . . . unlikely. First the note, and then the injured kitten. And someone had deliberately turned the key in the lock. But why? And who would do such a thing? She held the kitten a little bit tighter, rubbing her cheek against his soft fur, while she let herself cry again.

Finally, she managed to take a breath without it catching in her throat. She needed to do something. Anything. There must be some way out of this horrible darkness. With her right hand, she started feeling her way all around the room, cradling the kitten in her left arm. Slowly, methodically, she felt along the floor and the walls as high as she could reach. Once, she knelt down hard on something that dug into her knee, and she cried out in pain. Feeling around in the dirt, she found it, something round and cold, made of metal with a post sticking out of one side. A button, perhaps? A trickle of warm blood ran down her leg where the post had pierced her skin.

Maybe she could use the button to unlock the door, through the hole on this side. She crossed the cell as quickly as she dared in the dark, and found the keyhole. She tried to insert the button into the hole from every possible angle, but the button itself was too big to fit, and the post was too short to reach the mechanism inside. After several minutes of trying, she gave up, and pushed the button into her pocket, beside the note she'd found in the garden.

She continued searching the cell. When she reached the far corner, she put her hand into a puddle of something cold and wet. Ugh! The spot where she'd relieved herself. She wiped her hand on the dirt floor, and then scrubbed it dry on the bottom edge of her gown. Must remember to avoid that spot in the future.

Soon, she'd made it back around to the door. She had found nothing but dirt and rocks, and that useless button. Nothing that offered any hope of escape.

She sat with her back against the door. The kitten was so quiet. Worryingly quiet. Just how long had it gone without eating? Why, oh why hadn't she thought to bring any food? And it was so cold in here. She shivered, her dress damp against her skin and her hair cold against her scalp. Trying her best to keep the kitten warm in her arms, she laid down on the floor, making herself as small as possible to conserve warmth.

_Knock . . . knock . . . knock . . . _

Her eyes opened wide. What was that sound? She could still see nothing at all, but she climbed quickly to her feet, hoping it was real, hoping whoever it was wouldn't go away.

Yes, she could still hear it. A soft, rhythmic knocking . . . maybe someone coming down the stairs?

"Help me!" she shouted, pounding with one fist on the metal door. "I'm down here. Please! Help me!"

When she stopped pounding and listened, she could still hear the sound. _Knock . . . knock . . . knock . . . knock . . . knock._ It just continued, on and on, not getting any louder or softer, always at the same pace.

A whimper escaped her throat as she realized what it was, a sound she'd heard many, many times before. It wasn't someone knocking, or footsteps on the stair.

It wasn't someone coming to let her out.

It was water, dripping. Maybe onto a metallic surface, somewhere up above. It must still be raining outside.

No one was coming.

She collapsed back to the floor of the cell, feeling worse than before.

•o•

Rhianna had no idea how long she'd been down here. Hours, at least, but right now it seemed as though she'd been locked away for days, or maybe forever. It was hard to remember what it was like being able to see things, and she didn't really want to try. Thinking about the world outside was . . . bad. What if she never saw any of it again?

And staring out and not seeing anything was horrible and terrifying. Maybe the worst feeling she'd ever felt in her entire life. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and took a deep breath.

Yes, that was better. She relaxed her eyelids, closing them gently like she did when she was trying to go to sleep. This felt . . . safer. Calmer. Less panicky. With her eyes closed, it didn't seem so horrible she couldn't see, and for a few minutes, anyway, she could pretend that when she opened them the world would be there again with all its light and colors. She still couldn't stop shivering; she'd been shivering for . . . a while now. But she no longer felt like she was about to throw up.

Something tickled the skin on her arm. Then another something, and a third. Then pain, a sharp pinch as if she'd been bitten. By an insect, a flea perhaps, which had jumped onto her from the kitten. She brushed the back of her hand against her skin where she felt them crawling. There was one more tiny stabbing pain before she was able to brush them away. Her arm began to itch in the two places she had been bitten, and it took all her self-control not to scratch at her arm. That only makes the bites itch more, or so she'd been told. She couldn't remember ever being bitten by anything before.

Wait. What was that?

A new sound, in addition to the dripping water. A very faint sound, from just beyond the outer door to the room. So faint she had no idea what it could be, or if it was even real. She clambered to her feet, almost losing her balance, and felt for the opening in the cell door. When she turned her face to peek out of the hole, she could see something, or imagined that she could. A line of light, bright along the bottom edge of the door and fading as it extended into the room. It was so bright it hurt her eyes.

She blinked, rubbing at her eyes. What if it was her imagination, just wishful thinking?

When she opened her eyes again, the light was still there. That could mean only one thing: someone had brought a torch into the hallway!

With her fist, she pounded on the cell door as hard as she could. "_Please_!" she shouted, "please help me! I'm trapped in here and I can't get out! Please, _please_ help me!"

The light grew increasingly brighter. Yes! Someone was there, and moving closer!

"Help me! Let me out of here, _please_! Oh, _please_! I'm locked up in here! Please help me!"

The light was now steady, and she heard a sound. A soft _"clink," _like metal falling onto stone, but still the door did not open. Perhaps it was locked, as well? Or maybe whoever was there couldn't hear her.

"Help, me!" she cried as loudly as she could, pounding with all her might. "Please! If the door is locked, knock to let me know you can hear me! Please tell my father where I am. His name is Bryce Cousland, and he lives at the Highever Estate! _Please_!"

There was no response. But . . . someone _had_ to be on the other side of the door. Otherwise how did the light get there?

Unless . . . maybe the person on the other side could hear her, but just didn't want to answer.

She stopped pounding and fell silent.

Who would do a thing like that? Who could just stand there and listen to her cry out in panic? Maybe even enjoy hearing her cry out in panic.

Someone who had no intention of helping her, no matter how loud she shouted.

She backed away from the door, far enough to see the light through the barred cell window, but just barely. She wanted to be far, far away from whomever was standing there, listening. She held her breath, becoming as quiet as possible. That was silly, she knew. She'd just been screaming for help. Whoever was out there surely knew she was inside, so what good would it do being quiet? Even so, she pressed her back up against the wall, and tried not to make any noise at all. Her legs trembled; she wanted to sink to the floor, but she was afraid to take her eyes off of the door. What if whoever was out there opened the door? What if he wanted to hurt her? Maybe even kill her? She shivered, her breath coming in short gasps she tried to swallow for fear of being heard.

Finally the light began to retreat, growing gradually dimmer until it faded away entirely. She heard a muffled sound up above, then all was silent. And utterly dark once again. Her bottom lip began to quiver, and her teeth chattered against one another in her jaw.

She didn't know who had been on the other side of the door. Maybe the person who locked her away in here. Maybe a kidnapper who intended to make her family pay a lot of money to get her back again. Maybe a robber or a bandit or a demon or a ghost, although demons and ghosts probably didn't need torches.

Whoever it was, one thing was certain: that person hated her enough to not care that she was all alone in the dark. Maybe even hated her enough to leave her in here to die.

She allowed her legs to buckle underneath her, and sank to the floor, more miserable than she had ever felt in her entire life. She hugged the kitten tightly, grateful for his presence as tears once again began to pool at the corners of her eyes.

The kitten. He hadn't made any sound in several minutes. With a sick feeling in her stomach, she let her fingers roam over the small body once again. Feeling the kitten's tiny chest, she held her own breath, to see if there was movement.

There wasn't. The kitten was completely still. She realized the impressions she had been seeing in her head - the mental connection she shared with her small companion – had ceased some time ago.

The kitten was dead.

And probably, she would be dead too, long before anyone else came looking for her down in this dark, cold, horrible place.

•o•

•

•o•

•

•o•

_Trigger Warning - description of violence against an animal; death of an animal._


	6. Alone since the kitten

_**26 August, Dragon Age, 9:20  
**__**Denerim**_

•o•

"Is it my imagination," Rendon Howe asked, "or is there really no provision in this 'peace' treaty for the removal of the chevaliers which are stationed along the western border?"

"It's not your imagination, Rendon," Bryce Cousland replied. "But I hardly think it negates the spirit of the treaty. Empress Celene was adamant that the chevaliers are there to protect, not to threaten."

A small group had gathered at the Gnawed Noble tavern to discuss, of course, this wretched peace treaty of Maric's. And while Loghain was more than ready to be done talking about the empress' visit, it never hurt to keep abreast of what the rest of the nobility was thinking. So, here he was, taking his evening meal at the tavern. Fortunately, Bryce seemed happy to narrate what had taken place in the audience chamber while the agreement was being hammered out, and Loghain was able to sit back quietly and listen.

"Protect? Protect whom?" Bann Nicola Baranti's voice was calm, but Loghain detected a hint of discontent in her tone. This was surprising; the Bann of Denerim City generally gave her wholehearted and vocal support to anything backed by the king, and this treaty was Maric's current pride and joy. Then again, her family had not faired well - to put it mildly - under Orlesian rule, so Bann Nicola had as much cause as anyone to be concerned about any potential weaknesses in the agreement with Orlais.

"The chevaliers are there to protect Orlais, primarily," Bryce answered. "The Avvarian tribes in the Frostback Mountains are as much of a threat now as ever. Raiding parties still attack both Orlais and Ferelden, often enough that I don't see how we can fault the empress for wanting chevaliers on hand to deal with them. This potentially benefits Ferelden, as well. Empress Celene offered their services on this side of the border, should we be plagued with raiders we are not equipped to handle."

Oh yes. Celene had been positively beaming when she suggested this during the negotiations. "Our chevaliers are at your disposal," she had said, smiling wide-eyed at Maric. "They are, after all, the most well-trained fighters in Thedas. If we can help, even in a small way, to protect your western lands from the barbarians, it would be the least we could do. 'To remain friends,' as Teyrn Cousland's charming daughter might say." After an exceedingly pointed look from Maric, Loghain had bitten back his reply. "To remain friends," indeed. Well, no matter what Maric or anyone else said, there was no way chevaliers would be allowed to enter Ferelden, on the pretense of fighting Avvarian raiders or anything else. Not so long as Loghain Mac Tir drew breath.

"We've never before needed chevaliers to drive back the raiders," Gallagher Wulff said with a frown, echoing Loghain's own thoughts on the matter. "And considering it's my own arling that has been attacked by the Avvar more often than any other part of Ferelden, I say let's leave the chevaliers to their business in Orlais, and continue on without their 'friendly' assistance."

Before anyone could respond, there was a flurry of activity in the doorway. Eleanor Cousland hurried into the room, with Fergus and the Highever footman in tow. A shawl was thrown haphazardly over her shoulders, and her hair was damp from the rain that had fallen steadily since midday. It was unlike Eleanor to appear so disheveled. And the look in her eyes . . .

Loghain sat up straighter in his chair. Something had happened.

Eleanor?" Bryce had smiled when his wife entered the room, but that smile quickly faded. "What's wrong?" he asked, rising to his feet.

She glanced around the table, then pulled Bryce aside.

Fragments of their whispered conversation swept across the otherwise silent room.

"Have you seen . . . "

"No . . . with you . . . at the estate."

"She's not . . . searched everywhere."

"What do you mean? . . . Where else . . ."

Eleanor looked frantic, and Bryce shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"What is it, Bryce?" Rendon Howe asked from across the room. "Is something the matter?"

Bryce ran a hand through his hair. "Rhianna appears to be . . . missing," the teyrn replied.

"Missing?" Loghain asked. He got to his feet, as did Gallagher Wulff and Leonas Bryland. "What do you mean? What happened?"

"I don't know," Eleanor said, breathless. "But we've searched everywhere on the estate for her, in the house and the garden. She's not there. She's just not . . . anywhere."

Bryce placed a hand on her shoulder. "Eleanor, I'm sure Rhianna's fine. She's probably just hiding somewhere in the garden. She's found a nest of baby birds or something, and lost track of the time."

The teryna did not look convinced.

"When, and where, was the last time you saw her?" Loghain asked.

Eleanor turned to him, taking a deep breath. "Just before noon. She came into the study, and tried to get my attention, but . . . " Eleanor ran a hand across her face, "Landra was having one of her . . . moments, so I sent Rhianna away without hearing whatever it was she wanted to tell me." Heads nodded around the room. Landra was notorious for her fondness for drink, and for becoming emotional when she overindulged.

"I shouldn't have sent her away." The teyrna's voice cracked on those last words. "Perhaps . . . well, I don't know what could have happened. All I know is she didn't come down for dinner, and when we tried to find her, she just wasn't there." Turning to Bryce, "She's not in the garden, she's not in the house. And no one at the estate has seen her all day, not since breakfast. She never went to the kitchen asking Cook for lunch. Wherever she is, she's got to be starving, and if she's somewhere in the city, I don't even know where to start looking. What if she . . . I don't know, what if she fell in the river?" The teyrna's voice shook, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"She didn't fall in the river, dear," Bryce assured her, although his voice sounded strained. "And even if she did, she's a good swimmer."

"But what if she hit her head . . . and if no one saw her fall in?" Eleanor argued. "Or what if someone . . . took her?"

A murmur swept through the room. Certainly, it was possible the girl had been kidnapped. The Couslands were a wealthy family. If Rhianna had been taken for ransom, all they could do was wait for a note to be delivered, and hope the kidnappers were treating her kindly. And if she'd been taken by someone who didn't intend to ask for a ransom . . . well, that possibility was not worth thinking about.

"Wherever she is, we'll find her," Loghain said firmly, grabbing his cloak. "Bryce, where would you suggest we start looking?"

Bryce closed his eyes briefly, as if searching his mind for some clue to the whereabouts of his daughter. "Well, if she wandered off on her own, she's likely to be out of doors somewhere, looking for badgers or chickens or whatever else she can find."

"In this weather?" Bann Nicola asked. "It's been raining for hours. Would she have really gone out looking for . . . badgers in weather like this?"

"Perhaps she left home before it started raining," Loghain said, "and she's sitting in a shed or under an arbor waiting out the storm, not realizing how late it is. So, let's start looking in the gardens."

After a lifetime of commanding armies, Loghain didn't hesitate in issuing orders to those assembled in the room. "Leonas, check the South Reach estate. Rhianna has been a frequent guest of yours." He turned to Rendon Howe. "And she's spent a good deal of time at the Amaranthine estate, as well. so you look there. Gallagher," he said to the Arl of West Hills, "why don't you go down to the river. And Nicola, perhaps you should go to the palace. Ask Maric to have the garden searched. Rhianna I walked there together just a few days ago, and found a family of squirrels in one of the trees. Perhaps she went back to visit them."

As the others prepared to venture out into the rain, Loghain turned to the girl's father. "Bryce, alert the guard that she's missing, and then check Fort Drakon. I remember her saying once she was interested in seeing the view from the top." Bryce nodded, seeming grateful that Loghain had a calm head and was willing to take charge of the situation.

"Fergus," Loghain suggested, "why don't you go to the waterfront? Rhianna has always been interested in boats and sailing. Perhaps she went to the docks, and couldn't find her way back. Those streets can be confusing if you're not familiar with the area." Fergus nodded his agreement, his eyes dark, and his expression grim.

"And Eleanor," Loghain said finally, "You have the most difficult task of all. I want you to return to the Highever estate and wait there, in case she comes home. Or," he added quietly, "in case someone arrives with a ransom note." Eleanor's eyes widened slightly, but she nodded. "I'm going to search the gardens at Gwaren House," Loghain continued, "and send all my servants out to look for her. Then, I'll head to the Market District. It's central, and if she went through there today, it's likely someone will have seen her."

Eleanor looked scared but no longer quite so panicked, and she and Bryce and Fergus left the room together. Loghain was now alone in the room with Rendon Howe, who had remained seated.

"What are you doing, just sitting there?" Loghain asked. "Go have a look in your estate gardens. Rhianna's knows them well, does she not?"

Slowly, Howe drew himself to his feet. "This is a lot of fuss for one small girl, don't you think?"

What? What on earth was wrong with the man? A child was missing! Of course there would be a "fuss" about it. But before Loghain come up with a response, Howe added, "But of course, your grace, I'll be more than happy to have the garden searched. You're right, Rhianna rather enjoys our labyrinth. I suppose it's possible she decided to play there today. Maybe she's gotten lost inside and can't find her way out again."

With a nod, Loghain hurried from the room. He felt ill at the thought something bad might have happened to the little Cousland girl.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Rhianna lay curled up on the dirt floor of the cell, exhausted from crying, and shivering from the cold. For a while, her stomach had hurt from having gone so long without eating anything, but then she'd stopped feeling hungry. Now, the thought of food seemed strange, like it was something she'd only ever had in a dream, and she wasn't sure she had the energy to eat something, even had it been available. Her limbs ached from laying in one position for so long, but whenever she moved, and her body shifted off of the warm place she'd made on the floor, she felt even colder, so she was trying to lay as still as possible.

The kitten was still tucked beneath her left arm. He was dead. Rhianna knew he was dead, and her stomach felt hollow and sick when she thought about that. But putting him down on the ground seemed much worse. It scared her, to think of him laying near her on the floor, where she couldn't see him in the darkness. At least if she kept holding him, she would know where he was all the time. And he'd been her friend, for a little while at least. Not that she'd been a very good friend to him, but she hadn't meant for him to die. She'd wanted to help, even if she'd been too stupid to remember to bring any food.

For a while, she forced herself to sit up every few minutes, and pound on the door and yell for help. But that made her throat hurt, and her arm felt sore where she'd slammed it against the door, and anyway she was certain no one could hear her. And now, it seemed like an awfully lot of effort to get up and yell. Too much effort. It was cold, so very cold, and her dress was damp and her nose was running and she couldn't stop shivering and it was so dark she still couldn't see anything at all. Worst of all, she was having trouble putting the thoughts in her mind together in a way that made sense. She wasn't even entirely certain where she was, or how she had ended up here. Only that it was cold, and dark, and the kitten was dead.

The water was still dripping somewhere up above. Water. It would be nice to have a drink of water; maybe that would help her throat stop hurting so much. Fergus had once told her people couldn't live without water for very long. Maybe that's how she would die - like starving to death, only whatever it's called when it's water you need instead of food. Water starvation? Of course, it was also possible she'd starve to death the regular way; there wasn't any food, either.

Maybe she should pray. It seemed that was what people did when they were scared or sad or lonely or when bad things were happening. And being locked in this darkness was definitely a bad thing. Probably the beloved wife of the Maker didn't really have time to listen to a small girl who had gotten herself into such a lot of trouble, but perhaps it didn't hurt to ask.

"Blessed Andraste," she whispered, "please help me. I'm so scared, and all alone since the kitten died, and . . ." Oh, what to say next? What were the right . . . words? Her mind felt sluggish, as though her thoughts were trapped in molasses. "I . . . I didn't want him to . . . die but I didn't bring any food, and now I'm all alone and I just want to go home and see my mother and father." And her brother. She had a brother as well, but what was his name? "Um . . . and Carrot - she's my horse, in case you didn't know. And . . . Fergus. That's his name. My brother. He's a good brother and I want to see him again, too. Please Andraste. I need your help."

No more words came to her, so she curled herself up just a bit tighter. It would be nice to feel warm again, and she wished it was . . . quieter. The water dripping made such a loud sound, and now she could hear - or maybe just feel - her heart pounding. Faster than usual, maybe. Or maybe not. Maybe it was just that all the rest of her was slower.

Her stomach growled. Probably, that was the first symptom of starvation, and before much longer she would die, just like the kitten had died. In a way, that didn't seem so bad. Maybe she should try to sleep. Even if she never woke up again, at least she wouldn't feel so cold, and so scared, and so alone. Maybe the kitten would be there, and they could play together. She would have liked to have played with the kitten.

Water dripping, and the beat of her heart . . . and then her ears picked another sound out of the darkness: a tiny scratching noise, from somewhere up above.

"Is anyone th-there?" she whispered. Not that anyone would answer, and she was too sleepy to try and use a louder voice.

No response, but a moment later, the scratching seemed louder, and then louder still. Whatever was making the sound was moving closer.

Then it was very loud, maybe just a few feet away.

The soft but insistent touch of another mind pressed at her consciousness, followed by a soft skittering noise very close indeed, as if something had descended rapidly down the wooden door. Something both soft and prickly brushed against the skin of her bare calves, and she flinched away from it. Something . . . there was something with her in the cell.

She struggled to pull herself up into a sitting position. There was warmth - just the slightest amount of heat, but she was so cold she could feel it - next to her right hip. She reached out with her mind, and there it was. She saw images from its mind: a vantage point low to the ground, small pink clawed feet, then she saw its mate, and a litter of tiny hairless babies.

Her new companion was a rat. A female rat.

"Hello, there," she said, reaching out with her hand, slowly, feeling the air. She wanted to find the creature without startling or harming her. Her fingers met rough fur, and Rhianna clutched at the animal, gently. It was so good to no longer be completely alone in this terrifying darkness.

A cold nose sniffed at her skin, and the animal shifted underneath her hand, but stayed in place to allow Rhianna to stroke the short fur.

"Do you think you could help me get out of here, please?" That was a stupid question. How was a rat supposed to help unlock the cell door?

A moment later, the rat was no longer under her hand, and Rhianna heard the sound of its tiny clawed feet climbing back up the door. More scratching, and a soft _thud_, and then the rat climbed back into the cell (having gone back and forth through that little window with the bars in it, no doubt). Then, something cold nudged up against Rhianna's leg. She reached for it with her fingers, and felt hard metal.

The key.

Maker's breath! The rat had brought her the key!

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Maybe she would be able to get out of this miserable place after all.

The fog in her mind lifted enough that she was able to stand and find the opening in the door. With the key in her right hand, she reached between the bars, which were just barely wide enough for her arm to fit through. Stretching up as high as she could on her toes, she was able to get her entire arm out of the window, and she reached as far as she could, trying to fit the key back in the lock.

She wasn't tall enough, though, and no matter how hard she stretched, she never felt anything but wood underneath her hand, not the metal plate that held the locking mechanism in place. Pulling her arm back through the window, she felt the inside of the door, and realized the lock was much too far from the window for her to reach, even if she were taller. Probably too far for even a grown-up to reach.

Maybe she could open the door from the inside. She tried pushing the key in the lock, as she'd done earlier with the button. The key slipped from her hand and fell to the floor several times as she twisted it every which way, and tried inserting it into the lock at different angles. Each time she dropped it, she bent down and felt around in the dirt, determined to try again. This would be so much easier if she could feel her fingers, but her hand had gone sort of numb. She did keep trying, but no matter what she did, it simply wouldn't fit. It was made to be opened only from the outside. If she had something much smaller - a hairpin, perhaps - she might have been able to pick the lock (not that she had any idea how to do a thing like that), but the key, huge and solid, was useless to her from this side of the door.

She leaned her forehead against the smooth, cool wood of the door, and let her arm fall to her side. As frustrated, disappointed tears began to stream down her face, the key fell from her fingers, clanging loudly against the dirty stone floor. In her left arm, she still cradled the kitten, and she stood like that for a long while, sobbing and shivering, too exhausted to do anything else.

Another brush of fur against her ankles. In her despair, she'd forgotten about the rat. She knelt down slowly, coming to sit with her back against the door which refused to be opened. Her hand felt in the darkness for the small, blessedly warm body beside her.

"Please," she begged. "Please go out and find someone to help me. My father. Or Teyrn Loghain. Please." She had no idea if the animal could understand her words, but if she could send a picture, that might work. That's how animals always told her what they were feeling. In her mind, she pictured as clearly as possible her father's face, and then did the same with Loghain's.

The rat sniffed at her hand, then scurried back up the wall. With a flurry of claws on stone, she was gone, leaving Rhianna alone again in the darkness.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Loghain was starting to panic that Rhianna Cousland had not yet been found. He'd searched the garden of the Gwaren estate, calling her name as he went, but there was no sign of her. Not under the arbors, or in any of the outbuildings. He'd even looked in the small grove of apple trees; they would give poor shelter from the rain, but better perhaps than no shelter at all. But she was nowhere to be found. Damn. Not that he'd really expected her to be here; she wasn't in the habit of coming to his garden unannounced. But he had hoped perhaps, this one time, that's exactly what she had done. She was fond of him, after all, and it wasn't unreasonable to think she might have come to the estate, hoping to visit with him, and gotten distracted before she had knocked on the door.

Now, back inside the manor house, he was in the process of sending every servant in his employ out to look for the girl.

His daughter hurried in, her mouth tight and her eyes glittering with concern.

"Father, what's this about Rhianna Cousland? Is it true she's gone missing?"

"Yes. She hasn't been seen since before noon today."

"Maker's breath," Anora swore. "That's not . . . that's . . . Well, it's not as though anything really bad could have happened to her, right?"

He met her eyes, which was probably a mistake. Anora's frown deepened, and he guessed she'd seen in his eyes the worry and uncertainty he couldn't manage to shake.

"I'm sure she's . . . fine," Loghain said firmly, willing himself to believe it as well.

It was true. It _had_ to be true. Just a few days ago, he'd walked with Rhianna in the palace garden, her tiny, warm hand held firm in his own. It was unthinkable that something . . . bad could have happened to her, right here in the middle of Denerim.

Except bad things _did_ happen in Denerim, with some regularity.

"What can I do to help, Father?" Anora asked, her voice trembling.

Damn it. Now she was afraid, as well. He should not have allowed her to see just how upset he was, how anxious.

"Go to Eleanor, at the Highever estate." Loghain suggested. "She's waiting there in case the girl turns up back at home. I'm sure the the teyrna will be glad of the company." As she turned to leave, he added, "And take Uthalas with you." If Rhianna hadn't wandered off on her own, if someone else was responsible for her disappearance, Loghain didn't want his own daughter out on the streets alone. Uthalas had been with Loghain since the Rebellion. Anora would be safe with him.

When everyone at Gwaren House had gone to their appointed tasks, Loghain headed for the marketplace. The rain seemed to be stopping, which was good, but the sun had set, which was not. Not only would it be more difficult to search in the dark, but the temperature – not warm to begin with – was dropping. Rhianna was so very small. It wouldn't take long for her to succumb to the cold . . .

No. He would not think like that. There was no point in dwelling on the various things that could have happened to her. He just needed to get to the marketplace as quickly as possible, and _find_ her.

The market square was almost entirely deserted. The few merchants who had kept their stands open this long were clearly packing up for the night, and there were no customers lingering. Everyone must have gone inside to stay out of the cold. Loghain spoke briefly with the armorer and his business partner (or lover? Or perhaps they were brothers? Loghain was never entirely sure about their relationship), but they hadn't been out of the shop during the afternoon, and had not seen any sign of a small girl. It was the same with a woman who sold imported textiles and jewelry, and with a man in robes who appeared to have Tevinter antiquities for sale.

A merchant from Antiva gave him the first shred of news he'd had all day. "A little dark-haired girl, you say?" the man replied in a lilting voice. "Yes, I saw such a girl, right around the time it started raining. She was wearing a blue dress, yes? She went in the direction of the Chantry."

The Chantry? What would Rhianna have been doing at the Chantry?

Nothing, as it turned out. None of the sisters or lay brothers remembered seeing a small girl matching Rhianna's description at any time during the day. So apparently the Chantry hadn't been her destination. So just where in the world had she been going?

Back on the street, he turned left, into the older section of town. About half-way to the next corner, Loghain was stopped short by a very curious sight: a large brown rat, stopped directly in his path. It was far enough away that Loghain couldn't have kicked out at it, if he'd had such an urge, but close enough he couldn't continue straight ahead without having to walk around.

When he moved to go around it, the creature ran directly in front of him and stopped. It stood up on its hind legs, staring, as if willing him to pay attention.

What in the Maker's name?

Once again, he changed direction to avoid the blasted rodent. This time, it ran in front of him and stopped, then ran off to the side of the road, stood and looked at him. Then it ran back in his path, and then back again to the side of the road.

It sat on its haunches, staring at him with far more patience than a creature of that size should possess. He glanced at the Chantry, and then back at the rat. It was as if the creature wanted Loghain to . . . well, to follow it. Which was utterly mad. Rats did not behave like this, at least not in his experience.

Then again . . . Rhianna did have what seemed to be an unusual affinity for animals. The other day, in the palace garden, she'd been the one who'd found the squirrels. They were in a cavity in a tree, hidden completely out of sight, but she'd somehow known they were inside. She'd called to them, and they'd come out of the tree and sniffed around quite happily. One of them had even climbed up onto her shoulder. That, too, had seemed somewhat odd, but Loghain assumed someone who worked at the palace had tamed them.

But even that was nothing compared with the behavior of this rat, who was still staring directly at him.

Well, it wasn't as though he had any better idea of where to search next.

"Oh, fine then," he muttered, shaking his head. He could hardly believe he was actually going to do this. "Lead on."

Immediately, the rat scurried off to the west, and Loghain went after it. They traveled only a few blocks, the creature stopping occasionally as if to make certain Loghain was still following. Finally, the rat led him into a narrow alley, stopping on the sill of a barred window and waiting for Loghain to catch up. Then it scurried between the bars, and disappeared into the dark.

Loghain peered inside. It was completely dark; no torches lit the interior. He put his ear close to the bars, but didn't hear any sound other than the dripping of water.

He cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted through the window.

"Hello! Is anyone there? Rhianna?"

•o•o•o•o•o•

Rhianna was trying to think of happy things, but it wasn't working very well.

First, she thought of her mother, which gave her a brief moment of comfort, except her mother's face had been sort of . . . blurry, no matter how hard she tried to see it clearly. And what if she never saw her mother ever again? That thought had made her want to cry.

So she tried thinking about her horse, Carrot. Carrot's breath would feel so lovely and warm on Rhianna's neck right now, and the horse's lips were so soft when she nuzzled the palm of Rhianna's hand for a treat. The kitten's fur was soft, too; Rhianna could feel it tickling underneath her chin. Only Rhianna hadn't been a good enough friend to the kitten, and now he was dead.

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, but she didn't have the energy to shed them.

A gentle pressure at her mind, and then a faint sound in the darkness met her ears. Some sort of scratching. That was . . . interesting, a little bit anyway. Then the sound came closer, and then descended along the cell door. Oh. It was her newest friend, the rat. The animal pushed her whiskery nose into Rhianna's hand. Absently, Rhianna ran her fingers over the fur.

Then, another sound came from up above.

"Hello! Is anyone there? Rhianna?"

Oh, that was lovely. The voice sounded just like Teyrn Loghain.

"I'm here, Teyrn Loghain," she whispered. Except shouting would be better, wouldn't it? Surely, nobody outside of the cell could have heard that whisper. She should probably sit up and call out to let him know she was here . . . but she was really too tired to bother. Not that it was really him, anyway. For hours, she'd been calling and calling and calling and no one had heard her, and it was a waste of energy to keep trying. The voice was just her imagination. Maybe this was one of the things that happened when you were dying – strange visions, or voices out of the Fade.

Then she heard it again.

"Rhianna? Can you hear me?"

It really did sound just like him. Her imagination was doing much better with his voice than it had done with the picture she'd tried to see of her mother's face. Perhaps she should try and call out, just in case . . .

Her arms and legs felt so heavy, like they were made of wood. She only managed to get herself halfway to a sitting position before she gave up, and slumped back to the floor.

Fur brushed against her hand, then a sharp, shooting pain.

"Ouch!" Something had stabbed her finger!

"Rhianna?" Loghain called again. "Is that you? Are you hurt?"

As the pain in her finger receded, her mind seemed less cloudy, and she was able to pull herself all the way into a sitting position.

"Teyrn Loghain? Is that you?" she called out, her voice echoing off of the stone walls of the cell.

There was silence. Just as she'd thought; it was only her imagination.

But then he called back. "Yes, Rhianna! It's Loghain."

Oh, Blessed Andraste!

She sobbed loudly, partly out of relief, and partly out of panic that she was mistaken somehow, that it wasn't really him. She still wasn't completely sure she hadn't imagined the voice altogether. But if it was him . . .

"I'm here!," she shouted "Oh, Teyrn Loghain, I'm here! Please help me! Please!"

•o•o•o•o•o•

"Teyrn Loghain? Is that you?" The voice was high-pitched and thin, and sounded a bit distant. But there was no doubt it was Rhianna.

Thank the Maker. His legs threatened to go out from under him, and he leaned against the wall to steady himself.

He'd found her, and she was alive. Blessed Andraste, thank you. Thank you.

She was alive.

And she was somewhere in this building, probably down in the basement.

He called back to her, "Yes, Rhianna! It's Loghain."

"I'm here!," she shouted "Oh, Teyrn Loghain, I'm here! Please help me! Please!" She sounded terrified, and desperate. Perhaps she'd fallen, and injured herself.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm not hurt. I'm just cold, and it's so dark in here. Please come let me out. Please."

"I will," he shouted. "I'm coming for you, Rhianna, I promise. But I need you to tell me exactly where you are."

"I'm in a room under the ground," she called back. "It's square, with cells, like a pr-prison. I'm locked in. Please, Teyrn Loghain, please come find me!"

"I'm on my way. I promise." He glanced up and down the alley. It was a dead end, without any doors leading inside.

"How did you get in?" he called down.

"Through the door to the guard tower. Only there weren't any guards. I went down the stairs, and through the hall. Please h-hurry!"

Her voice broke on the last word; Maker's breath, just what in the world had happened here? And had she really said she was locked in? In any case, he knew exactly where she was. The entrance to the tower was on the other side of this block of buildings, and he'd have to go around to the front.

"You're going to be fine, Rhianna," he called down. "You're safe now. I'm coming to get you, but it's going to take me a few minutes to reach you. You won't be able to hear my voice while I'm coming, but I will find you. I promise. Do you understand?"

"I understand. But please hurry!"

"I will. I swear it."

With surprising speed for a man of his height, he ran out of the alley and back toward the Chantry, then turned down one street, and then another to the entrance to the tower.

He pulled open the door, but it was too dark inside for him to see much of anything. He'd seen torches outside, so he hurried back out to grab one. Once inside, he saw stairs leading downward, and then a hallway, and the room at the end just as Rhianna had described.

"Teyrn Loghain!" Rhianna called out, her voice shaky and small. "Please, is that you?"

"It's me, Rhianna. You're safe now, I promise." He heard her sob, and, after shoving the torch into one of the holders on the wall, he moved to the one door which was closed, the door from behind which her voice had come. He grabbed one of the bars in the window and pulled, but the door wouldn't budge, and there was no key in sight.

"Rhianna, do you know what happened to the key?"

"Oh," she breathed. "I forgot. I . . . here, I have the key. I just couldn't reach far enough to get it into the lock." He peered in through the opening in the door, and saw her silhouette as she bent down and picked something up from the floor. She struggled to her feet, and when she reached up to hand him the key, it slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor. She whimpered, then awkwardly crouched to pick it up again. She lost her balance, and fell backwards onto her bottom. For a moment, she just sat there, her breath coming in short gasps, but finally she grasped the key and made it to her feet. Her small hand, the skin impossibly pale in the torchlight, poked through the bars, and Loghain took the key from her icy fingers.

He unlocked the door, and yanked it open. She squinted up at him in the dim light, one arm thrown in front of her eyes to shield against the light of the torch. In the flickering light, the cell looked dismal: bare inside, just a stone floor covered with dirt. And the room had no windows, which meant however long she had been in here, she had been in the dark. In complete and utter darkness.

She was holding something in one of her arms, but before he could see what it was, Rhianna sobbed once and stumbled toward him. Falling to his knees, he caught her as she wrapped one of her arms around his neck. She was shivering violently, and her skin was cold. Much too cold. He pulled off his cloak, and wrapped her up in its warmth.

He carried her out into the room, and sat in one of the chairs at the table, positioning himself so he could see her in the torchlight. She settled herself in his lap, slumping forward as if she didn't have the energy to sit up straight. He could feel the cold coming off of her. Maker's breath, she felt frozen.

He urged her to sit up just enough so he could get a good look at her. Her face was tearstained and covered in dirt, her hair was stringy, and her gown was filthy and damp. The thing she was holding appeared to be a kitten, furry and grey, and most assuredly not alive. One of her fingers was bleeding, and there was a trail of dried blood down one of her legs. His body tensed at the sight of the blood. Had someone had hurt her, or, Maker forbid, forced himself on her?

He looked for signs she had been beaten, or worse, but the blood on her leg seemed to have come from an injury just below her knee, which didn't look particularly serious. And she did not appear to have any bruises. Her eyes weren't quite able to focus on his, though, which was troubling, and she was still shivering violently. He'd spent enough years living in rough camps to know the signs of someone who'd been out in the cold for too long. He needed to get her warm again as soon as possible.

Resting his chin on the top of her head, he pulled her body close so she was tucked as tightly against him as possible. He rubbed her arms and her legs, trying to warm them under his hands. If only Maric were here; the man always had a flask of whiskey or brandy or something that would have been helpful right about now. As they sat, Rhianna's shoulders heaved just once, and she began to cry, softly at first, but soon her body was wracked with sobs. He held her even more tightly, now for comfort rather than warmth.

How in the world had she ended up in here? This particular tower hadn't been used in several years. There weren't enough guards to man it, and because of its proximity to the older section of town, it had been chosen for closure, rather than one near a wealthier part of the city. Perhaps she'd come here, hoping to climb it and see the view from the top. But if that were the case, how had she ended up in the basement? And she said she'd been locked in, which seemed to indicate someone else had been involved.

Well, there was no point speculating; as soon as she was calm, he'd ask her what happened. But he didn't want to rush her; she'd clearly been through something of an ordeal, and needed time to recover. And perhaps he needed a few minutes of calm himself.

Movement near the outer door to the room caught his eye. A large rat sat up on its haunches, presumably the same one who had led him here.

Maker's blood. Had that really happened? It hardly seemed possible, but it had happened. He'd followed the rat, and been guided here. To a building no longer in use. How long would it have taken Loghain to find the girl in this particular tower - one of hundreds of buildings in Denerim - without the rat's assistance? And given the state in which he'd found her, it seemed unlikely Rhianna would have survived even one night down here.

Bizarre as it seemed, that rat had saved the girl's life.

Never again would he kill one of the creatures.

Never.

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling relief and exhaustion flood over him. No matter how it had happened, he'd found her. She was safe, and alive, and he'd have her back with her parents as soon as possible. When he opened his eyes again, the rat was gone.

He wasn't sure how long they sat together. He didn't speak; he just held her while she cried. Maker knows she had good reason for being upset. Finally her sobbing ceased, and her breathing returned to something close to normal.

"Rhianna," he said as gently as he knew how, "I need you to tell me what happened. What were you doing in here, and how did you get locked in that cell?"

She sat up and sniffed loudly, running the back of her hand across her eyes. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Thank you, ser," she said, wiping her nose. A single sob escaped her throat, and for a moment, he thought she was going to start crying again, but she just sniffled, and chewed at her lip, looking up at him. He had never seen a more miserable expression in all his life.

"I . . . I . . . " she stuttered, and her voice trailed off. He reached up and cupped one of her cheeks in his hand. Her lips twitched, as though she were trying to smile, and then she took a deep breath, her bottom lip still quivering, although Loghain couldn't tell if it was from crying or from the cold.

"I . . . was at home, when I found a n-note. Someone left a note in the garden saying there were kittens here in the tower who had lost their mother. I tried to tell my m-mother, but Lady Landra was upset and Mother sent me away, so I came on my own. I was afraid they would die if I didn't help them." Her breath caught, and she sniffled again. "The note said to go into the b-b-basement, so that's what I did."

"In the dark?" Loghain asked.

She shook her head. "It wasn't dark. There were t-torches, along the stairs and one in this room."

When Loghain had arrived, there were no torches, not even burnt-down remains. Which meant someone had taken them down, deliberately.

"When I called out," she continued, "to see if anyone was here, I heard the kitten." Her features collapsed into a mask of grief as she looked down at the small body in her arms. "He was still alive then." A fat tear ran down her cheek, making a fresh track in the dirt on her skin. "And he was the only one. The note said there was a l-litter of kittens, but he was the only one.

"He was inside the cell, and when I went to pick him up, the door closed behind me, and I heard someone turn the key in the lock, and then run away, and everything went d-d-dark. I yelled and yelled, but no one heard me. Well, not then anyway. Later, someone did c-come; I saw the torchlight in the hallway. But whoever it was didn't come in. I think . . . I think maybe it was the person who locked me up in here. Someone who must . . . hate me, a very, very lot." Her breath hitched again. "It was dark, and so cold, and then the kitten died and I couldn't do anything to help him. And I was so scared I was going to die, too. Just like the kitten."

As Rhianna began to cry again, Loghain held her just a little bit more tightly, and closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe slowly. To breathe through the rage building inside of him. Someone had lured her here to this abysmal place, set a trap for her and locked her away on purpose. Then taken the torches and left her alone in the dark. To scare her, maybe even to kill her. And then that someone had come _back, _and stood outside the door, knowing a terrified little girl was inside? She'd said whoever it was must hate her, but how could someone hate an eight-year-old girl enough to do a thing like this? He pulled her close against his chest, gently stroking her hair, until her sobbing subsided.

"How did your leg get hurt?" he asked. It sounded as though she'd had no direct contact with whatever monster had done this, thank the Maker, but Loghain needed to be sure. "And, how did you come to have the key inside the cell with you?"

"The key? Oh. The rat brought the k-key to me, but my arm was too short to reach through the window and unlock the door myself."

The rat? Before he could ask anything further about that, she continued, "And I hurt my leg when I was trying to f-find some way to get out. I was feeling my way around the cell, when I knelt on something hard. A b-button, I think." She fumbled at the front of her dress, and reached a hand into her pocket. She pulled out a folded piece of parchment first. "Oh. Here is the note," she said, offering the parchment to him. He took it from her, tucking it carefully into his trouser pocket. That note . . . when he found out who wrote it, there would be hell to pay.

She reached into her pocket again. The object she handed him was, indeed a button, from a cloak perhaps. It was made of brass, with an unusual design: two bars which crossed one another, one of which looked like a double-headed axe. They were joined with an "x" in the center, as if lashed together by rope. He'd never seen one like it before, which was good. It might be useful in identifying whomever had done this, assuming it had been dropped here recently. He put the button into the same pocket as the note.

There was something else he needed to know, even though he feared the girl's reaction.

"Rhianna, how did the kitten die?" It was young, but certainly not so small it would have starved to death in the time the two of them had been locked up together.

She moaned softly before answering. "I'm . . . I'm not sure. I thought maybe he starved because I didn't bring any food with me, but maybe not. One of his legs was broken, and m-maybe some of his ribs. He was kicked, by a person, but I don't know who. He was already hurt when I got here." Fresh tears streamed down her face, but she didn't begin sobbing again. Instead, she looked up at Loghain, her face stricken with grief.

"He died . . . a while ago. I knew I should set him down on the ground, but I . . . I c-couldn't. It was so d-d-dark, Teyrn Loghain. I couldn't see anything, not anything at all, and I didn't want to think of him just lying there, on the floor. As long as I was holding him, I could remember that he was my friend, for a few minutes at least, when he was alive. But if I put him down, in the dark . . . well, what if I f-forgot where I had set him, and stepped on him? Or what if . . . what if he came back alive in the darkness, and was angry with me for not saving his life?" Her breath hitched. "I . . . I was so . . . I was so s-scared."

Her bottom lip began to quiver, and he gathered her into his arms just as she began crying again.

Blessed Andraste, the girl had been trapped here, in the freezing cold, for Maker knows how long, clutching a dead cat. Loghain's stomach lurched, and once again the feeling of rage rose up inside of him, filling his chest, making his breath come faster. He wanted to hit something. Someone. He wanted to break every bone in the body of whomever had locked this precious child away in the dark.

She had said the kitten had been kicked, but clearly she hadn't seen it happen. So how did she know? And there was the rat, who'd apparently helped her in more ways than one, and the squirrels yesterday. She must have some sort of . . . connection with animals. But how, and why? Was it magic? Blessed Andraste, please don't let it be magic. There had to be some other explanation. Loghain had known an elf once, one of the Night Elves, who could call wild animals to fight at his side, wolves and bears, even spiders like the ones in the Deep Roads. It had been remarkable, but not any sort of magic. This thing with Rhianna wasn't, perhaps, so different. It had saved her life, that much was clear, but he hoped desperately it wasn't magic. If Rhianna were a mage, she'd be taken away to Kinloch Hold. Never to be seen again, mostly likely, and subjected to . . . whatever it was that templars did to the mages. Especially pretty ones. He'd heard stories, even about the Ferelden Circle of Magi, which was said to be one of the better ones in Thedas.

No, this thing with the animals wasn't magic. It _couldn't_ be magic. It simply couldn't.

Rhianna had grown quiet in his arms, and he hugged her close once more and kissed the top of her head before urging her to sit up. She needed a warm bath and dry clothes to drive away the chill that had nearly overtaken her. And Bryce and Eleanor must be frantic with worry. It was time to take this child home, away from this dismal place and back out into the light.

"Rhianna, would it be all right if I take the cat from you now?"

Looking up at him through narrowed eyes, she clutched it tightly. "What will you do with him?"

That was a good question. He couldn't very well carry it in his hands; he'd be carrying Rhianna, as she was in no condition to walk back through the city. And the thought of her continuing to hold onto it, this animal which had been dead for hours . . . no, he could not stomach that. But she was clearly not going to agree to leave it here.

His cloak pocket. Yes, the thing was small enough to fit inside. That would have to do.

"We'll take him back with us, Rhianna, and have a pyre for him tomorrow morning. At the Highever estate, or at Gwaren, whichever you prefer. We can do it together. In the meantime, I'm going to put him in my pocket, where he'll be safe. And . . . warm."

Rhianna frowned for a moment, then nodded, uncurling her arm from the kitten. It had grown stiff since its death, which made Loghain vaguely nauseous, but for Rhianna's sake, he was as gentle with it as possible as he slid it into the pocket of his cloak.

"Let's get you home, shall we? Your parents will want to see you."

She nodded, but then wiped urgently at her face with the handkerchief. "Oh, not just yet, Teyrn Loghain, please. I don't want them to see me like this. I'm frightfully dirty, and Mother is going to be angry about my gown, isn't she?"

Maker. The girl was worried about being in trouble after what had been done to her? The rage swelled within him again.

"Rhianna. I promise you, your mother is not going to scold you about your gown, or about the dirt." Eleanor would be so elated to have her daughter back home, alive and unharmed, that there will be no scolding about anything. Certainly not tonight, and probably not ever.

Rhianna looked unconvinced, but after a moment she nodded. "Will you promise me something, Teyrn Loghain. Please?" She sounded so very young. She _was_ so very young. What must it have been like for her, being locked in the dark for hours, completely alone?

"Anything," he said, without hesitation.

"Will you promise not to tell anyone I was crying?" The corners of her mouth quivered, but her eyes remained dry. "Everyone already thinks I'm such a baby, I don't want anyone to know that . . . well, you know . . . how upset I was. That I was crying. Please, can't we keep this our secret?"

"I won't tell anyone, if that's what you want. I promise." He took a breath. The girl had survived alone, in the dark. She'd even had the strength of will to try and find a way out, and convinced a wild animal to find help. And she was worried people would think badly of her? He needed to make her understand, somehow, that she had no reason to be ashamed of herself.

"Rhianna," he said, looking directly into her eyes. "What happened to you today was horrible. Horrible, and scary, and whether or not you cried about it, you are absolutely not a baby. On the contrary, I think you are incredibly brave."

She frowned, and her brow wrinkled, but she held his gaze. Her eyes were better able to focus now, which was good, but he sensed she didn't believe him, that she still believed she'd behaved shamefully.

Loghain wanted to kill whomever had done this to her.

"Rhianna Cousland, you are one of the bravest people I have ever known." Gently, he grasped her chin in one hand, willing her to believe him. Willing her to know this about herself, without any doubt. He leaned close to her, so close he could see tiny freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose, freckles he'd never noticed were there until now. "Never be ashamed of being afraid. Fear is not the enemy. Fear is your friend. It tells you when there is danger, and gives you the ability to face it. Only fools are never afraid."

Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at him, her eyes greener than he'd ever seen them before, her expression haunted. How long would it take her to recover from what had happened to her today? And please, oh please, don't let this child have been damaged beyond her ability to heal.

She inhaled, her breath catching slightly as she studied his face. It was as though she wanted to believe him, but wasn't sure he was telling the truth, that maybe there was something she was missing.

After a minute, she bit her lower lip and let out the breath she had been holding. "Is it really all right to be afraid?"

"Yes, Rhianna, it is. It truly is."

She nodded, and he felt her silent acceptance. Slowly, as if she only had the energy to make the most deliberate of movements, she cuddled herself tight against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Will you please take me home now?" she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Yes, love. I'll take you home."

Cradling her in his arms, he got to his feet, making certain his cloak was covering her completely to protect her from the night air. After checking to see the kitten was not in danger of falling out of the pocket, he carried her up the stairs, and out into the night.

•o•


	7. The perfect picture of childhood

_**26 August, Dragon Age, 9:20  
**__**Highever Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

The front of the Highever Estate was ablaze with light from every lantern in the courtyard, but the path leading up to the manor house was entirely deserted. With the sleeping girl in his arms, Loghain climbed the steps and let himself in the front door without bothering to knock. He followed the sound of voices into a sitting room to the left of the entry hall.

Inside, Eleanor sat on the sofa, between Anora and Lady Landra. Rendon Howe perched in a chair near the hearth, while Loghain's footman stood near the window, looking out into the garden. A small group keeping vigil while everyone else was still out in the city, searching for Rhianna.

Anora was the first to notice Loghain's arrival.

"Father! You're . . . Oh, thank the Maker, you found her!"

In an instant, all eyes were on Loghain and the girl asleep on his shoulder.

"Blessed Andraste! My little girl." Eleanor rushed to Loghain's side, an almost manic smile on her face. She pushed the back from Rhianna's forehead, and her smile faded when she saw the dirt and the tearstains, then looked down at the condition of Rhianna's dress, and the blood on her leg.

"But . . . she's bleeding! Oh, Loghain. Is she . . . is she all right? Did she fall? Did someone . . . hurt her?" The teyrna's voice shook as she studied Loghain's face, watching for his reaction.

"She's all right, Eleanor," he said. "It looks like a lot of blood, but it's all from a small cut on her knee. She's cold and exhausted, but she's going to be just fine." He turned to his footman. "Uthalas, will you please go out and find Teyrn Bryce, and let him know his daughter has been found. He's probably up at Fort Drakon. And perhaps you should alert the guard. Get the word out that people can stop searching."

Without a word, the elven man nodded, and hurried from the room.

"Where was she?" Rendon Howe asked, moving close to Eleanor's side. His eyes roamed up and down the girl's body. "It looks like she's had some sort of . . . adventure."

Loghain wasn't sure how much he should say, at least until he'd told the Couslands what happened. "She was in an abandoned building, not far from the Chantry."

"What's this?" Howe said. "An abandoned building?"

"Near the Chantry?" Eleanor's eyes were wide. "But that's all the way across town. What in the world was she doing there?"

"I'll be happy to tell you what she told me," Loghain said, holding the teyrna's gaze, "but she's been wearing a damp dress for hours, in a place that was very cold. She needs a warm bath and dry clothes, right away."

"Oh Maker, what's wrong with me? Of course," Eleanor agreed, shaking her head as if to clear it. "If you don't mind, will you carry her upstairs?"

"Would you like me to help with her bath?" Anora asked Eleanor. "That way you and Father can talk."

"Yes," Eleanor agreed. "That would be lovely, dear. As long as Rhianna doesn't mind. Rendon, Landra, will you please excuse us?"

The teyrna led the way up the stairs and into Rhianna's bedroom, getting the attention of one of the servants along the way, so hot water could be brought up for a bath.

Inside the bedroom, Loghain tucked Rhianna's hair behind her ear, and bounced her gently to wake her without startling her. "Rhianna," he whispered into her ear, "it's time wake up. You're home now."

She stirred, whimpering softly, and then wrapped her arms more tightly around his neck. Sniffling, she said in a sleepy voice, "Please, Teyrn Loghain, don't make go back in the dark."

Something tightened in his chest at her words. Maker damn whomever had done this.

He smoothed her hair with his hand. "No one is going to put you back in the dark, Rhianna. I promise. Look, your mother is here, and she wants to see you."

She rubbed at one of her eyes with the palm of her hand. Then she lifted her head, and her eyes alighted on Eleanor. "Mummy!" She stretched out one arm to her mother, who reached for the girl and eased her from Loghain's arms. Loghain ran one hand slowly over his face, then sank into a nearby chair to watch the reunion between mother and daughter. Loghain expected the girl to burst into tears again, but Rhianna clung tightly to her mother in complete silence.

"It's all right, darling," her mother crooned softly into Rhianna's ear. "You're safe now, you're home."

Yes. Rhianna was home. She was safe. Perhaps that was all that mattered at this particular moment. But there were questions to be answered. Well, one question in particular. And with any luck the note tucked into his pocket would provide that answer.

A trio of servants came in, carrying hot water for the girl's bath.

"Darling," Eleanor murmured to the girl in her arms, "would it be all right if Anora helped you with your bath? And then your father and I will come and tuck you into bed. I know you've had a long day, and you must be very tired."

"All right," Rhianna agreed, and when Anora came close and put her arms out, the girl went to her willingly. Loghain rose from the chair, hurrying to remove his cloak from Rhianna's shoulders. The last thing he wanted was that damned dead kitten to fall out on to the bedroom floor. He wrapped the cloak carefully, and tucked it under his arm.

"A warm bath, Anora," Loghain added. "Not too hot. She was cold for quite a while, and needs to be warmed up slowly."

Anora nodded her understanding, and spoke softly to the servants. After a long look at her daughter, Eleanor led the way out of the room, into the library across the hall.

The teyrna poured two very generous glasses of brandy, and settled herself on the sofa beside Loghain. She took a sip of her drink, and then another, before meeting his gaze.

"I'm desperate to know what happened," she said. "But perhaps we should wait until Bryce is here. So you don't have to explain it all twice."

"I don't mind repeating myself, Eleanor." He took a sip from his own glass. The brandy was smooth and warm and exceedingly welcome. "I found her in a guard tower, in an older part of town west of the Chantry."

"That doesn't make any sense. Why in the world would she have gone . . ."

"Eleanor!" Bryce Cousland rushed into the room, his chest heaving from exertion, with Fergus right behind. "She's here?" His gaze landed on Loghain. "Fergus and I were on our way back to the estate, to see if there was any word, when your manservant found us on the main road. He said you'd found her, and brought her home."

"Yes, Bryce. Rhianna is here," Eleanor said, standing, her eyes bright. "And she's fine. She will be, anyway, after a good night's sleep. She's in her room with Anora, having a bath. She . . . well, Loghain was just about to tell me what happened. Why don't you both come and sit down and we'll hear it together?"

Bryce looked over his shoulder, as though he wanted to go to his daughter's room and see for himself that she was really here, that she was really alive and unharmed, but he did as his wife suggested. Perhaps it was something of a blessing Bryce hadn't been here when Loghain had arrived with Rhianna, the girl covered in dirt and blood. This way, the man didn't have that particular image burned into his memory.

"So," Bryce said, sinking into a chair near the fire, "where was she?"

"In an abandoned guard tower in the western section of town," Loghain began. "Near the Chantry. A building that hasn't been in use for several years. She was down in the basement . . . locked up in one of the old holding cells."

"Locked up?" Fergus asked.

"Yes," Loghain replied, with a slow nod of his head.

"I need to know what happened, Loghain," Bryce said. "What in the Maker's name was my daughter doing in a guard house near the Chantry? Did she wander there on accident?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "Or was someone else involved?"

"It was no accident," Loghain replied, and then told them nearly everything Rhianna had described to him: the note in the garden, how she'd found the guard tower deserted but lit with torches. Her discovery of the injured kitten just before someone locked her in the cell.

"Someone ran up behind her? But she never saw who it was? Maker's balls." Bryce's nostrils flared with each breath, and his hands were clenched into fists. Bryce Cousland was one of the most genuinely easy-going and cheerful men Loghain had ever known. Even during the Rebellion, when they'd spent half their days fighting just to stay alive, Loghain couldn't remember a time when he'd seen the man truly angry. But right now, Bryce Cousland looked murderous.

Loghain didn't blame him.

He explained that one of the merchants had seen Rhianna earlier in the day heading in the direction of the Chantry, which had prompted Loghain to search that section of town. He didn't say he'd followed a rat to where the girl had been trapped. Nor did he mention the "booted foot" Rhianna had seen in her vision, the one that kicked the kitten. He wanted to speak with Rhianna about this . . . thing with animals, before he mentioned it to her parents. So, he merely said he had called for her while searching near the Chantry, and had the good fortune to hear her call back.

True to his word, he also didn't tell them Rhianna had cried after he rescued her. That much, however, he assumed her parents had guessed on their own.

Finally, he pulled the note from his pocket. Unfolding it himself for the first time, he glanced at the handwriting, read the short message, and handed it to Bryce to examine. The script was childish and plain, certainly no hand familiar to Loghain. Either written by a child, or by someone not wanting his or her handwriting to be identifiable. The parchment itself was unremarkable.

"No watermark," Bryce said, flinging the note down onto the table. "And no border or monogram. This won't be of any use."

"And you never received a ransom note?" Loghain asked.

"No. Nothing like that," Eleanor replied.

"But if this wasn't done for money," Fergus said slowly, "whoever did it must have intended her to die in there." The lad's eyes were wide, as though he couldn't quite believe any of this had happened. Loghain hadn't mentioned how very cold Rhianna had been, how clumsy, the difficulty she'd had focusing her eyes when he'd first arrived. She'd been far closer to freezing to death than he'd let on to her family. Even so, it wasn't difficult for them to guess she probably wouldn't have survived the night.

Bryce rubbed at one of his temples, his face pale. Eleanor had tears in her eyes, but her mouth was set in a firm line.

"Who in all of Thedas would do something like this, and to a child?" Eleanor asked.

"Especially to someone like Rhianna? She's never done anything cruel in the whole of her life," Fergus added.

"I honestly don't know," Loghain replied. "But I'll do everything in my power to help you find out."

There was a soft rap at the door; Anora stood in the doorway, the sleeves of her gown pushed up past her elbows. Loghain nodded at her, indicating she should enter.

To Eleanor and Bryce she said, "Rhianna's in bed. She's asking to see both of you, and you as well, Fergus. She asked me to leave her door open, and a candle burning in the room; I hope that's all right?"

"Of course, dear," Eleanor assured her, as all three Couslands got to their feet. "Thank you so much for helping. I'm still . . . well, I just can't understand how something like this could have happened. But thank you." She turned to Loghain. "And thank you. Thank you for finding her, and bringing her home." She took a breath, as though she intended to say something more, but then she closed her eyes for a brief moment before moving toward the door. "We'll just go tuck her in to bed, and say goodnight."

Bryce paused on his way out of the room. "If it's not too much to ask, Loghain, will you please stay a while longer? There is something I want to ask you."

"Of course," Loghain agreed.

While the Couslands went to be reunited with Rhianna, Anora sat beside her father, placing her hand on top of his own. Her palm was warm and slightly damp, and he felt a surge of pride at the lovely young woman his daughter had become.

"Thank you, Anora, for helping. Was she . . . I assume everything went smoothly with her bath?"

"Yes, she was perfect. It must have been wonderful for her to be warm again, and clean." She smiled, but her voice was dull with exhaustion; this had been a trying day for a great many people. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite so dirty. Not even Cailan or I, after killing ogres in the cellar."

Loghain chuckled. Oh yes. The army of ogres. At least that had been the children's explanation for all the broken wine bottles. He'd nearly forgotten about that, it had happened so many years ago.

He felt her fingers tighten around his hand, and when she spoke again, there was a note of urgency in her voice.

"Father?" she asked. "There's something . . . well, I'm not sure if it's really something at all, but I think I should tell you anyway." She bit her lip. "Rhianna said something to me about a kitten. Locked in the room with her, and it had been injured?"

"Yes," he replied. "She thinks someone . . . kicked it. It died while they were locked away together in the cell." He decided not to mention the creature was, in fact, in the room with them, wrapped up in his cloak. "I think . . ." he added, "someone injured the animal on purpose, and then left it there . . . for Rhianna to find."

"Yes, that's the way it sounded to me, as well. I . . ." she trailed off, wringing her hands together as she often did when she was nervous, a habit she'd picked up from her mother. "I, well . . . I don't know if I should say anything. I didn't want to say it to Bryce and Eleanor, but . . ."

"What is it, love?" he asked, reaching out and putting a hand on her knee.

"Well, it's just that . . . a kitten someone had harmed? Habren Bryland has a reputation for . . . well, let's just say I've heard rumors about Habren and small animals. Puppies, especially. Her father regularly buys mabari puppies for her, but she never seems to have full-grown dogs, if you know what I mean. I wouldn't be surprised, that's all, to learn Habren was the one who injured that kitten. Not that it seems likely she could have locked Rhianna down in some . . . dungeon. The girl is only ten years old, after all. But, wounding an animal? That does sound like something she would do."

The Bryland girl had a reputation for torturing animals? That was . . . disturbing.

"Thank you, Norrie, for telling me. I'll keep it in mind," he said, surprising himself with the use of the pet name he'd had for her when she was small. He hardly ever called her that anymore, but she smiled at him, as if she were pleased to have heard it.

"She . . . she is going to be all right, isn't she? When I gave her the bath, I didn't see any injuries, other than a cut on her knee and one on her finger, some bug bites, and a few bruises. But she seemed so . . . quiet. I mean, she told me a bit about what happened, but even while she was talking, her voice just sounded . . . empty. Not like Rhianna at all. She's always been such a bright, happy little thing. She will be all right, won't she?"

He remembered how Rhianna had looked when he pulled open the door to the cell. Squinting up at him, tearstains in the dirt on her face. How she had shivered in his arms, the desolate tears she had shed. What she'd been through must have been terrifying. But even right after he'd found her, she hadn't been panicked or incoherent, and after only a few minutes of tears she was able to calm herself and tell him what had happened. The girl truly was brave and resilient - he'd seen those qualities for the first time when she'd fallen on the glass shard that Satinalia three years ago, and again today. With luck, they would serve her well as she worked her way through whatever trauma she'd experienced.

He took one of his daughter's hands. "I believe she will be fine, Norrie. She's scared now, and tired, and suffering from the cold, but she has a strong spirit, and she's surrounded by people who love her. Rhianna's going to be just fine." For Rhianna's sake, he hoped what he'd just told his daughter was the truth.

"Loghain?" Eleanor hovered in the doorway, as if she didn't want to interrupt the conversation Loghain was having with his daughter. When he turned toward the teyrna, she continued, "Rhianna is asking to see you, if you don't mind." Loghain raised one eyebrow. Now she was home with her family, he assumed the girl would have forgotten all about him. Then again, his was the first face she saw when she came out of the darkness, so perhaps it wasn't so surprising after all.

"Of course I don't mind." He released Anora's hand as he stood.

Eleanor added, "Anora, let's you and I go downstairs, shall we? Fergus will join us in a few minutes. I think perhaps we could all use some sort of refreshment. Tea, or maybe something stronger. I think there might be strawberry tarts as well. And I need to tell Landra and Rendon that Rhianna is fine, and that they should go home."

From the doorway of the girl's room, Loghain could see Rhianna lying in bed, her head perfectly centered on her pillow, with her father on one side of the bed and Fergus on the other. She wore a white nightgown, with long, full sleeves and a ruffle at the neck. Such a beautiful child, her cheeks scrubbed pink, her damp hair combed back and spread out on the pillow. She would have been the perfect picture of childhood, except for the unhealthy color of her face, and the dark circles under her eyes. Even so, she looked much healthier now than when he had pulled her out of the cell.

All eyes turned to the doorway when Loghain entered.

"Ah, there he is now," Bryce said soothingly to his daughter. "I told you he was still here, Pup." To Loghain, "She's got something to ask you, apparently. Something that couldn't wait until tomorrow. She was quite adamant about it." He leaned down to kiss Rhianna on the cheek. "So I'll say goodnight, now. But you must promise not to keep Loghain talking all night long. He's had a long day, and I expect he needs his rest."

"All right. I promise," she said softly.

Fergus reached over and tweaked his sister gently on the chin. "Goodnight, Elsie. It's good to have you home." He kissed her on the top of her head.

"Goodnight, Fussy," she said with a weak smile. "I'm glad to be home."

Bryce and Fergus left the room, and Rhianna turned her attention to Loghain.

"Teryn Loghain," she said, giving him a smile that looked bright, but failed to reach all the way to her eyes. She looked a bit . . . hollow.

"May I come in?" he asked.

"Of course, silly. Didn't Mother tell you I asked you to come?" She patted a space beside her on the bed, indicating he should sit. He complied, and took up one of her hands, turning it over, and back again, not sure why he felt the need to study it. Anora had given her a proper bath; the girl's hand was meticulously clean, even under the fingernails. The small puncture wound on her finger was nearly invisible. He rested her hand back on the bed, but continued to hold it.

"She did, indeed." He smiled warmly at her, not wanting his own gloomy thoughts to upset her. Then he lifted one of his brows and looked down at her. "Fussy? You call your brother Fussy?"

Rhianna giggled, a sparse sound unlike her usual robust laughter, but it was a vast improvement on the wide-eyed empty smile. "It's been my nickname for him since I was small. When I was first learning how to talk, I couldn't properly say 'Fergus.' It came out as 'Fuss,' and eventually, that became 'Fussy.' I didn't know it was an actual word. You know, one that meant something else. Something not very nice. Later on, by the time I found out it was a word, I was so used to calling him 'Fussy' I couldn't manage to stop." She winkled her nose, a hint of a grin on her lips. "It's possible I didn't try very hard. To stop, I mean. And since I'm the little sister, he lets me get away with it."

"And he calls you Elsie?" Loghain smirked at her. "That hardly seems fair. It's just short for 'Elizabeth,' isn't it?"

"How did you know my middle name?" Rhianna asked, her eyes wide.

"I heard your father introduce you to Empress Celene."

"Oh." Her brow wrinkled for a moment as she took that in.

"It seems to me that 'Elsie' is a quite nice nickname," Loghain continued. "Especially compared with 'Fussy.'"

"It's not nearly as nice as you think," she said, looking up at him, her eyes looking more brilliantly green than usual against the pallor of her skin. "Even Mother and Father don't know the truth about it. They think it's short for Elizabeth, like you guessed." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "But it isn't. In Highever we used to have a milk cow called Elsie; that's where Fergus got the name. And it's not as though there was anything wrong with the original Elsie. She was a very nice cow - quite friendly, and she had lovely warm brown eyes. But no one really wants to be named after a milk cow, do they? Even I've got to admit cows aren't the cleverest animals in the world. So believe me, Fergus is getting me back for calling him Fussy."

She tried to smile, and it looked genuine this time, but her eyes were beginning to droop from exhaustion. Time for him to see what it was she wanted to say to him, and let her get to sleep.

"So, your mother said you wanted to speak with me. What can I do for you, my lady?"

"I . . . well, I was wondering. Can we really have a funeral for the kitten? Tomorrow. With a proper pyre, and everything?"

Loghain gently squeezed the hand he was holding. "Of course we can, Rhianna. Would you like to do it here?"

She shook her head. "Could we do it in your garden? Would that be all right?"

"Yes, that's fine. Do you want me to build the pyre?"

"Yes, please. And I'll say the words."

"And who would you like to invite to be there with us?"

Rhianna looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "Mother and Father. And Fergus. And Anora." She paused. "I think that's everyone. Besides you and me, I mean."

"That sounds fine. And perhaps afterwards, you and I can sit together for a few minutes and talk. There is something I would like to ask you." He wanted to speak with her about the rat and the kitten and the squirrels, but that conversation could wait until she'd had a good night's sleep.

"Why don't you just ask me right now?" One of her hands flew to her mouth as she tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn.

Loghain chuckled. "Because, like your father said, I am exceedingly tired, and need to get home and into my bed. And what I have to ask you isn't urgent; it can wait for tomorrow. Until after the funeral. If that's all right with you?"

"Of course it's all right. I always like talking with you, Teyrn Loghain," she said earnestly.

"Good. And I always like talking with you, too. But right now, it is time for me to leave. I should get Anora home. I expect she could use a good night's sleep, as well." He squeezed her hand. "You're safe now. You know that, don't you?"

"I know."

"Good night, Rhianna." He leaned over, and placed a kiss on her forehead, and she smiled up at him, her lower lip quivering just the tiniest bit, her eyes filled not with tears, but with . . . well, he wasn't quite sure. Some emotion he couldn't identify. Something that made him feel somewhat . . . anxious. Unworthy, perhaps.

Pushing that aside, he smiled at her once again, then got up, and crossed to the door. "Shall I arrange things with your parents? And Fergus and Anora? About the time that we'll have the ceremony?"

"Yes, please."

"All right. Then I will see you tomorrow. Sleep well, Rhianna. And sweet dreams."

As he turned to go, she called out to him one last time. "Teyrn Loghain?"

He leaned through the doorway to look at her. "Yes?"

"I just . . . well . . . I . . ." She paused. "Thank you." Her bottom lip shook, and this time her eyes were bright with tears. "Thank you so much for coming to find me. I hated that place, and I never want to go back there."

He didn't know quite what to say, and had trouble taking his next breath. After a moment, he said the only thing that came to mind. "You're welcome, Rhianna. I am very grateful I was able to find you, and that you're safe and well."

One last smile, and she nestled her head into the pillow, closing her eyes as if preparing to go to sleep. He watched her for a moment, watched the way her chest rose and fell with her breath, her eyelashes dark against her pale face, her fingers clutching the blanket that covered her. If he hadn't found her . . .

There was no point in finishing that thought. She was safe now, and warm, and tucked away in bed. That's really all that mattered. She was here and not . . . anywhere else.

He crossed the hall back into the library where, as he had expected, Bryce was waiting for him. The teyrn sat on the sofa, face in his hands. At Loghain's approach, he looked up. His expression spoke volumes: he was out for blood, and didn't waste any time getting to the point.

"I need to know who is responsible for this, Loghain. I can't comprehend what sort of monster could have locked my daughter in . . . some sort of . . . dungeon. And left her there to die." He paused, "I need to see it. The place where she was trapped. Will you take me there?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. Right now. I need to see if there is anything there that will tell us who did this to her. This note," he picked it up from the table where it had been discarded earlier, and crumpled it in his hand, "is useless. It could have been written by anyone."

"All right. I'll show you."

Half an hour later, torches in hand, the two men descended the steps into the guard tower.

They moved slowly, looking in the hallway for tracks in the dust that might be identifiable, but the only clear footprints appeared to be Rhianna's, or Loghain's from when he'd run through looking for the girl, and come out again carrying her in his arms. Anything else had been hopelessly obscured.

Inside the room that held the cells, Bryce lifted his torch, his gaze taking in the table and chairs, the empty cells. Then he looked at each wall in turn, rotating his body slowly to see the entire room.

"There aren't any windows in here," he said, his voice rough. "None at all." He glanced at Loghain. "Didn't you say there were no torches lit when you arrived?"

"Yes. All the torches that had been here when she arrived had been removed."

"But with no windows and the outer doors closed . . . it would have been pitch black in here, even before the sun set. Completely, utterly dark." His breath came faster as his brow furrowed, and his mouth hung open. "My daughter was locked away in here, in absolute darkness, for most of the day? She wouldn't have been able to see anything, not anything at all. Not even her own hand in front of her face!"

Bryce stood in the center of the room, breathing through his nose, looking like he was trying to keep himself from striking out, from hitting something. The stone wall, perhaps, or from kicking over the table or smashing one of the wooden chairs.

After a moment, he looked back at Loghain.

"Someone did this to her. Locked my daughter in the dark. In the cold. Deliberately?" Loghain nodded. Bryce's eyes were dark and fierce. "When I find out who it was, I'll kill him with my bare hands."

Not if I get there first.

Loghain decided to keep that thought to himself.

Back in the hallway, the light from Loghain's torch glinted off something that had fallen into a small depression in the floor, right near the door. He crouched down to pick it up. A bracelet. Small, probably made for a child. Several little birds cast in silver, connected by links of chain, and the workmanship was fine. This was no cheap trinket, but an expensive piece of jewelry.

"Bryce, look at this." He handed the bracelet to the other teyrn. "Does this belong to Rhianna?"

Bryce examined it in the torchlight. "No, I've never seen it before. It's not Rhianna's, not as far as I know. Do you suppose it was dropped here today? By whoever . . . did this? Or could it have been here before? Not that this looks like a likely place for children to play."

Loghain looked back at the spot where he had found it. It hadn't been covered by dirt, and the bracelet itself was clean and shiny. "I don't think it had been here for very long," he said carefully.

A child's bracelet. He remembered what Anora had told him.

"I think you might want to show that to Leonas Bryland," Loghain suggested. "See if it belongs to his daughter."

"Habren?" Bryce frowned. "Why would you think this might belong to Habren? You don't think she had something to do with locking Rhianna up down here? The girl's only ten years old."

Loghain shrugged. "It's just something Anora told me. Apparently the girl has a reputation for harming small animals. And considering what was done to the kitten . . ."

One of Bryce's brows lifted. "Is that so? I didn't know anything about that. I can't imagine Leonas would tolerate such behavior."

"I expect Leonas knows nothing about it. He does seem rather lenient with the girl. And perhaps a bit too trusting."

Bryce nodded thoughtfully. "True. Well, I assure you, I'll be paying Leonas a visit tomorrow. We'll get to the bottom of this, one way or another. I swear it."

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	8. Streaks of pigment on canvas

TRIGGER WARNING: Please scroll to the bottom for details.

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_**27 August, Dragon Age, 9:20  
**__**Gwaren Estate, Denerim**_

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It was just after midnight when Loghain and Anora returned to the Gwaren estate. Wishing his daughter goodnight, Loghain went to his study, rather than up to bed. It was late, but his mind was restless. He wouldn't be able to sleep just yet, and the thought of laying sleepless in the dark was wholly unappealing.

After lighting a few candles to brighten the room, he laid his cloak down on the desk, and then stared at it.

The kitten. What should be done with the miserable thing? He certainly couldn't leave it in his cloak overnight, or the garment would reek of death.

He removed the kitten from the pocket, handling it gently for Rhianna's sake, even though she wasn't here to see. Setting the cloak aside, he lay the dead animal on his desk.

It was one of the most pitiful things he had ever seen, its striped grey fur streaked with dirt, its body frozen into a collection of strange angles. The stiffness had set in while the girl was holding it in her arms, and it stuck that way, with its head tilted back awkwardly, and both front legs sticking out in different directions, the midsection squashed from being held against Rhianna's body for so long. Hopefully, by morning, it will have gone soft again, and look less gruesome.

Damn. He could hardly leave it sitting there in the middle of his desk, but what else was he to do with it? After glancing around the room, he went to the sideboard and retrieved a tablecloth. Probably one of the estate's good tablecloths; his housekeeper would be unhappy when she discovered the use to which it had been put, but he didn't care. He wrapped the kitten inside, and set it on the stone hearth in front of the unlit fireplace. That was better. The damned thing could stay there until its funeral.

Why did he keep thinking of it as the "damned thing?" The kitten was also a victim, and perhaps it had been a comfort to the girl. Up until it died, anyway. Either way, the kitten wasn't to blame for what had happened.

Even so, the thought of Rhianna clutching the dead kitten while the heat seeped out of its bones, and the fleas fled its body?

Loghain felt sick to his stomach.

He sank into a nearby chair, and something poked at his leg, in the crease at the top of his thigh. Something in his pocket. He reached in, and fished it out.

The button. The button Rhianna had found. He'd forgotten all about it.

He turned it around in his fingers. What had she said? That she'd knelt on it while she was in the cell. But had it been dropped there today by the person who kicked the kitten, or had it been there for Maker knows how long before that? It was difficult to tell now. It was dirty, and there was blood on the post in the back. Considering the condition Rhianna was in when he found her, all of that could have happened this afternoon. Or, the thing could have been sitting there for months.

Either way, he'd give it to Bryce in the morning, so the man could take it with him when he spoke to Leonas. See if the Bryland girl owns anything with buttons that match. If she did, that, along with the bracelet – assuming it was hers - would provide ample evidence she was the one who had done this to Rhianna. If she _was_ the one. Somehow, it didn't seem possible that Habren Bryland could have done this. The girl was only ten, and she'd never struck Loghain as being particularly clever. Mean-spirited? Yes, in droves, and clearly she disliked Rhianna. But clever enough to set such an elaborate trap, and do it all without being caught? That seemed highly unlikely.

He almost hoped it hadn't been her. His hands itched to break every bone in the body of the person who had done this, and he could hardly justify killing a ten-year-old child, no matter what she had done. Especially since this wasn't really his concern. Bryce was the girl's father; ultimately, it was for him to handle. Even so, Loghain couldn't imagine letting this go. Not until the culprit had been found, and sufficiently punished.

Back at his desk, he reached for a pencil and a piece of parchment, and sketched of the design on the button. If it turned out Habren was not to blame, he wanted to remember the exact pattern, and keep an eye out for it elsewhere.

When the sketch was complete, he stood, intending to pour himself a glass of whiskey, but something in the desk drawer caught his eye. A locket. He took it out and turned it around in his hands.

He hadn't opened this locket in quite some time; probably tonight was not the best time to break that habit. Even so, he kept it in his hand while he poured the whiskey and went to sit beside the hearth. The thought of a fire was tempting; he could still feel the chill in that basement. But it seemed a waste of effort and wood when, hopefully, he'd feel tired any minute now.

He closed his eyes, and studied the darkness behind his eyelids.

Darkness. Like the place Rhianna had been held. A room with no windows, where she'd been locked away for seven hours, at least. Alone, in the cold, her only companion dying in her arms. He remembered the darkness, the impenetrable darkness of parts of the Deep Roads, and how terrifying it was to be in darkness like that, even with companions, and torches nearby.

His breath came faster, and his hands clenched into fists. Yes, he wanted to kill whomever had done this. No child should have to suffer what Rhianna suffered today, being locked up alone in the dark. But that it had happened to Rhianna made it so much worse. She was . . . well, he had to admit she had become precious to him. And the thought of how scared she must have been, not knowing if anyone would ever find her down there . . . it was almost more than he could bear to think about.

But he couldn't stop thinking about it, partly because it was so horrible, but partly because it made no sense. Who could possibly want to hurt her? A sweet child, a child with so little malice inside of her? Mischief, yes, but not malice. He'd never heard her say or do anything unkind - not that hadn't been well-deserved, at any rate. Quite the opposite, in fact. Rhianna seemed to go out of her way to be considerate. Like the other day, when she'd offered her condolences about Celia's death. She had been so earnest, so concerned for his feelings, so worried about how Anora was coping with the loss of her mother . . .

Celia. Oh, Maker.

Celia.

Nausea welled up inside him again, and he put his face in his hands. He breathed, slowly and deeply, willing himself not to be sick, as all the feelings he'd pushed back the other day, triggered by Rhianna's kind words, flooded over him in a wave that wouldn't stop. Feelings he'd been pushing back for months. Feelings he wasn't prepared to face even now, but apparently he was being given no choice.

Guilt. Regret. Sorrow. Horror. Self-loathing. Mostly guilt. Maker's blood, he hadn't even managed to make the trip to Gwaren to see her one last time. So many feelings, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a question was forming, one he did not want to ask. Not now, perhaps not ever.

Celia had deserved better, so much better. Loghain had not been even half the husband she deserved. And now she was dead, and any chance he might have had to fix things was gone.

He and Celia had met in Gwaren, in the final years of the Rebellion. Well, according to Celia, they'd actually met for the first time right after he'd emerged from the Deep Roads with Maric, Rowan, and the bard, although Loghain had no memory of it (something Celia had teased him about later). Of course, he'd been . . . distracted at the time, to say the least. Later, when the army had returned to Gwaren after the Battle of River Dane, they'd met again, and this time, he remembered.

The Rebels were using Gwaren as their headquarters, sometimes staying for extended periods of time. During those months, especially in the winter, when the army was holed up in the town with nothing much to do, Loghain kept himself busy by helping rebuild the town, which had been devastated more than once by Orlesian invaders. Most of the time he worked alongside townspeople, but some of the soldiers offered to help, and even Maric had joined in on occasion, in spite of being rubbish with a hammer. That had been amusing to watch.

The man who was unofficially in charge of the reconstruction was a freeholder named Saer, a carpenter by trade. Well, a cabinet maker really, and a good one, but at that point in time, Gwaren had greater need of houses than furnishings. Saer had organized the building efforts, deciding what needed to be done first, and where. And every day, the man's daughter would bring him his lunch.

One day, she had offered lunch to Loghain as well.

"No thank you," he'd said, uncomfortable that this woman apparently thought he needed charity. She'd shrugged, and walked away without comment, but the next day, she'd offered again. And the next day, and the next.

On the fifth day, he'd nearly lost his temper. "Why do you keep asking me if I want lunch? After as many times as I've said no, I would have thought you'd give up by now."

She had glanced at him and then shrugged, looking down at the basket in her hands. "I just never see you taking a break, ser. And it wouldn't do for you to work yourself to exhaustion. When was the last time you stopped for a meal?"

She'd peered up at him through her lashes. Even though he was annoyed with her, he had to admit she was beautiful, with shining golden hair and blue eyes and a delicate, straight nose and graceful hands. Her face, slightly flushed from the cold, had been impassive as she waited for him to answer her question.

"Why do you care?" he'd asked.

"Begging your pardon, ser," she began, "but aren't you the right hand of Prince Maric?"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"He is the rightful king, and part of your duty as his general is to protect him, is it not?"

Loghain had glared at her, not sure where this was going. "I suppose so."

"It seems to me you can hardly do that properly on an empty stomach. Protect him, I mean."

"Protect him?" Loghain looked around. It was the dead of winter; no enemy force would make an attack at this time of year. "Protect him from what?"

"Well, the Orlesians, of course. They've been the greatest threat these past few years, in case you hadn't noticed." She'd blinked at him, with just the slightest hint of a smile on her lips. "But I'm sure there are other dangers, as well. Wild animals. Antivan pirates. Very large . . . squid from the depths of the oceans. I can't possibly keep track of all the things that might pose some threat to the king. Besides, isn't _that_ your job, as well? Keeping track?"

When he didn't answer - he was still stuck on "very large squid" - she'd shrugged before continuing. "And even if there's no imminent threat, that doesn't mean something bad isn't lurking around the corner. Which rather necessitates being always prepared. I'm sure you wouldn't want to be . . . negligent in your duties. To the king." Her smile was more pronounced now. "So eat something. You need to keep up your strength, after all." She'd let her eyes run down his body and back up to his face. "Not that it's noticeably lacking."

Then her eyes had grown wide, and her cheeks flushed pink, and she'd bit her lip, and Loghain wasn't sure if she was embarrassed, or trying to keep herself from smiling.

Without a word, he'd taken the basket from her hands, turned his back and strode away, so she wouldn't see that _he _was embarrassed, as well as smiling. He'd sat under a tree and eaten the damned food (roast lamb that was quite good), and when he'd finished, and looked around for her, she was gone. When night fell, Loghain accompanied Saer back to the house he and his daughter shared, so Loghain could return the basket, and thank her properly. On Maric's behalf, of course.

When she'd invited him into their workshop, he'd been amazed by what he'd seen inside.

Toys. One entire wall of the shop was filled with toys, made in the evenings by Saer with leftover scraps of wood. Hobby horses and tops and tiny houses for dolls. Cradles and rocking horses and sleds. All of them beautifully crafted, and decorated with designs that Celia had painted. She had blushed fiercely when he'd picked up a cradle and admired the design - a rising sun on the headboard, and a crescent moon in the night sky at the foot. She'd seemed genuinely embarrassed to have someone notice and comment upon the quality of her work.

He'd been intrigued by this woman, with her quiet grace and her perseverance. With her willingness to goad him into eating lunch. With her ability to make such beautiful things with her hands.

As he got to know her, he became more and more intrigued. In part, it was because she was different from the other women he'd known. Women who were physically robust, with personalities to match. His mother, who had farmed alongside his father, singing songs while she worked. Rowan, who was as good with a sword as anyone Loghain had ever known and not afraid to speak her mind. Eleanor Dryden, who was slight of build, but made up for it with a ferocity that scorched anything that got in her way. Women who were warriors, by inclination or necessity.

Celia was thin, and fragile, and so fair she never went outside without a hat to protect her skin from the sun. Where others had been bright and vivid, like the explosive color of a sunset, Celia was softer, faded, almost. Like the sunrise. And she had no interest in armies or armor or learning to fight. Perhaps it was wrong of him to cherish these things, perhaps it meant he wanted her for what she wasn't rather than what she was. Or perhaps he found her fascinating because she was so different, and that was what he had wanted most. Someone different, someone who didn't remind him of other women he had known. Especially the ones he had loved, and had lost.

And just like that, he found himself enamored of the carpenter's daughter. Never again did he refuse the food she brought while he was working. Nor did he refuse her company when she offered to join him while he ate. And later, months later, when she'd offered him something more, when she'd taken him by the hand and they'd found a quiet place to be together, he hadn't refused that, either.

They were married before the end of the Occupation, just a few short months before Maric defeated the Usurper and threw the Orlesians out of Ferelden for once and for all. Right around the time Eleanor Dryden married Bryce Cousland, and Rendon and Evanna Howe were wed, and Gallagher Wulff's first son was born. Ferelden was ready for the war to be over. Ready to have children, create families. To live the peaceful lives they'd been denied by seventy years of Orlesian occupation.

When Maric had thrust the teyrnir upon Loghain, it made sense to settle there. Celia loved Gwaren, and had no desire to leave, not even to travel for recreation. And Loghain had no desire to go anywhere else. Nothing remained of the life he'd lived as a child in Oswin, and he certainly didn't want to live in Denerim. Gwaren was as good a place as any to start again, away from everything he'd known for the past few years. Away from his memories, from the things that haunted him, away from Maric and Rowan.

It was a transition for both of them, being raised to the nobility with a wave of Maric's hand. In some ways, it was easier for Loghain, because he didn't particularly care what other people thought. But Celia was perhaps better suited to her new role, by virtue of her personality, her sensibilities. The first year had been a challenge, but Celia had helped him to settle, not just into Gwaren, but also into himself. After so many years in hiding, living in camps with the army, fighting for their lives, it had been uncomfortable to stay in one place. He'd felt restless, his mind and his body still on alert. The Occupation had forged him into an outlaw, a man who was quick to fight, whose mind went to strategy before anyone else had even perceived the threat. But being a teyrn required different skills. He had needed to remake himself into someone less volatile, less driven by rage. Into a man who talked to people first, rather than running them through with his sword. With Celia's help he did this; with her words, and by example. Just a look from her, a slight smile or the tilt of her head was often enough to divert him from his rage or ill humor. To remind him not to react as he would have done in the past.

Celia had been good for him, and he liked to believe that he'd been good for her as well. Back then. That he'd helped her come out of her shell, expand her horizons. Do things she had never had the courage to do before.

A short time after they'd settled into the castle in Gwaren, Anora was born. They had been happy then, in those bright days when their bedroom still had no roof, so they slept in one of the dining rooms downstairs. While Loghain went about restoring the castle, Celia, after recovering from Anora's rather difficult birth, rehabilitated the gardens. She worked outside for hours some days, a wide-brimmed hat on her head, Anora sleeping in a basket in the shade. Celia loved flowers, roses in particular, and had a remarkable knack for them.

This was fortunate for the gardens, considering that Loghain was useless with plants, in spite of having grown up on a farm. He'd once killed one of her rose bushes just by touching it; it had shed half its leaves like a dog with mange. Celia had assured him it had already been ailing, but he never quite believed her, a belief bolstered by the fact that she never again asked him to help in the garden. On his next trip to Denerim, though, he'd brought back a replacement, its branches overflowing the saddlebag. The damned thing had torn him bloody, but the smile on her face when he'd given it to her had made up for every drop of blood he'd lost.

In the evenings, she liked to paint, no longer just toys, but proper paintings as well, first on parchment, and later on canvases Loghain purchased from foreign merchants. Sometimes he would watch her grinding the pigments: red from madder root, yellow and green from buckthorn berries, blue from a stone she called azurite. She charred bones in the fire to make different shades of black; before meeting Celia, it had never occurred to Loghain there could be more than one shade of black.

Later, when there was money enough he could justify spending some of it on luxuries, he'd bought purple dye for her. Purple was the one color she'd not been able to make to her satisfaction, so he'd purchased a dye made from seashells collected in the warm waters along the coast of Antiva. Hundreds of seashells, to make just a small pot of the stuff. She'd been delighted, and the first thing she'd painted was a field full of lupines. Their color had been so rich and perfect that over the years Loghain had spent hours staring at them, especially in the dead of winter, when everything was covered by snow, and those painted flowers could almost make him feel spring had arrived.

Flowers were her first love, but she often painted landscapes as well. Only occasionally did she paint people. Anora, twice, and sometimes townspeople or traveling players who caught her fancy. But never Loghain, and never herself. She hadn't liked painting people. "They're such active creatures," she said. "It seems wrong to give them just a single expression frozen for all time."

He turned over the locket he'd pulled out of the desk drawer, rubbing his thumb along the contours of the design, over the brass that had become warm in his fingers. Inside was the only image he had of Celia, one he had commissioned not long after Anora was born. He'd brought the locket with him to Denerim years ago. At first, he'd looked at it often, but over time that had become more and more . . . uncomfortable. Finally, a few years ago, he'd put it away in the drawer and it had remained untouched ever since.

Sliding his thumbnail between the two halves of the locket, he popped it open with a soft _"_click."

Celia's image smiled up at him, faded and stained, a print on her neck from one of Anora's tiny fingers. Strange to think that from now on this would be the image of Celia he held in his mind. He still had a few mostly clear memories of the flesh-and-blood woman: Celia stopped on the staircase and looking up at him over her shoulder; reading a bedtime story to Anora; smiling and breathless as she looked out over the ocean after hiking along the edge of the cliffs. But these images were fading rapidly, in the years since he'd last seen his wife. And now, he'd never see her face again, and this painting would be the way she would be remembered.

But this wasn't Celia. This was nothing more than streaks of pigment on canvas, and it didn't do her justice. Not even close. She had been so much more beautiful, with a gentle grace and dignity no artist could have hoped to capture. Nor did her sense of humor show through, her wit, which crept up so slowly you didn't even realize she was joking until the joke had been sprung. Most of their Denerim acquaintances had found her dull, but only because they'd never taken the time to see just how subtly clever she was.

There was no life in these painted eyes, no shine in the hair. The curve of her shoulders, the reach of her neck, looked ordinary here, but in reality, had been perfect. So lovely that just the sight of her had made him ache to run his fingers there, to place gentle kisses on the soft skin behind her ear.

No, the painting was woefully inadequate. Perhaps Celia had been right; people should not be frozen in time this way.

He sighed, stretching his legs out in front of him as he snapped the locket closed again, holding it loosely in his hand. Again, something pressed at the edges of his mind. That question . . .

Again, he pushed the thought away, more violently this time.

Yes, those first few years had been good. The years when Maric and Rowan were far away in Denerim, and Loghain could almost pretend the Occupation had never happened. That his parents were still on their farm in Oswin, and would come to visit at Funalis and play with their granddaughter once the harvest had been brought in. The years when his wife's smiles and his daughter's laughter lit up his days. When he and Celia still shared a bed at night.

When Anora was three years old, Celia became pregnant again. Carrying Anora had been difficult near the end, but Celia - never strong to begin with - didn't cope well with this second pregnancy right from the start. She was nauseous and her body ached and she was tired all the time; just climbing the stairs was enough to exhaust her for hours. Several weeks before the baby was due, she became seriously ill: she had pain in her head, and her hands and feet swelled, and she couldn't keep food down at all.

Then the baby came early. Far too early, surviving for only a few short hours before she died. Another girl, whom Celia had intended to name after Loghain's mother, but decided to name Deirdre instead.

A name that meant "sorrow."

The midwife said it was a blessing the baby came early. If the child hadn't come when she did, Celia would surely have died, too. As it was, he'd nearly lost his wife along with the baby, from loss of blood, and from grief.

He still had images in his mind from those dark days, images that hadn't faded.

His daughter in his arms, impossibly small, her chest heaving with the struggle for breath. Her tiny, perfectly-shaped fingers, the purplish tint to her skin, the fine, downy hair on her arms and her shoulders.

Celia's face, her cheeks hollow and her eyes clouded with pain. Blood, staining her skin and soaking the bedclothes. Drops of it on the floor.

Smoke rising, from a pyre far smaller than any pyre should ever be. A pyre he'd built himself, and set ablaze with dry eyes while the autumn winds whipped through his hair, geese honking as they flew overhead on their way to someplace warmer.

Celia, out of bed for the first time since the birth, standing in front of the pyre weeping, her shoulders shaking, tears streaming down her face.

Anora, four years old, standing at her mother's side, terrified and confused. Her blonde hair pulled into two lop-sided braids, woven by Loghain's hands, hands that had not yet learned the art of braiding a child's hair.

Loghain's breath caught in his chest at this memory. When she was small, Anora had been full of laughter and mischief. She'd been, as Anora herself had described Rhianna earlier, "a bright, happy little thing." All smiles and giggles and pigtails and dirt-smudged cheeks. Deirdre's death had changed her. Not that Anora hadn't recovered from this tragedy. Like Rhianna, Loghain's daughter was brave and resilient. But it seemed as though Anora never quite recaptured the sheer joy of living she'd had before the baby's birth, and death, had torn her family apart.

Is this what the future held for Rhianna Cousland, after what had happened to her today? Would the loss of her innocence, replaced by the knowledge there is cruelty in this world, change her in some way? Dampen her spirit? Make her fearful or timid or prone to melancholy?

_Please, Andraste, no. Blessed Andraste. Don't let that happen to yet another precious little girl. _

At the funeral, Loghain had watched his wife cry, knowing he should go to her, take her into his arms. Hold her. Comfort her. She cried silently, staring into the pyre, not looking away, barely even blinking, and he didn't know what to do. He didn't know what she wanted, he didn't know how to reach out to her. All he could see was her grief and it was too much for him to bear. He didn't have words to save her. How could he, when he didn't know how to save himself? To save himself from grief so deep and thick he was drowning in it.

For the second time in his life, he felt completely, utterly helpless, and he hated it, he hated everything about it.

Even so, in spite of everything he was feeling, if he had known for certain it was what Celia wanted, what she needed, he would have gone to her. If she had looked over at him even once, if she had nodded her head, or whispered his name, or made some gesture of welcome, he would have taken her into his arms and tried desperately to give whatever small comfort he was capable of giving.

But she didn't look up, and he didn't know what she wanted. And being close to her, close to anyone in that moment, was not what he wanted for himself. So he stayed away.

He never found his way back again.

Certainly, there had been times when they might have fixed things. When he could have reached out for her. Times when he thought she might reach out to him, but somehow it never happened. They both just meandered around the castle like two rivers that never crossed, but kept flowing steadily to the sea alone. Two strangers, with nothing to say to one another, she in her grief, and he in his.

In the months that followed, Loghain began spending more time away from the castle, needing to feel the fresh air on his skin, needing to be somewhere the silence wasn't a constant reminder that something was desperately wrong. He rode out into the countryside, or hunted in the woods, sometimes for days at a time.

Then, they received word Queen Rowan had died, taken by some wasting illness. Maric believed it was blight sickness contracted in the Deep Roads.

Loghain, desperate to be away from his grief and his grieving family, a family he didn't know how to comfort, had fled to Denerim, on the pretense that Maric needed him. Which wasn't untrue. Maric was . . . a wreck. After Rowan died, probably even before she had died, Maric had started drinking, and had shut himself up in his room, refusing to see anyone at all. When Loghain arrived and demanded to be let in, he'd been appalled by what he had found. Maric was a shell of the man he had been the last time Loghain had seen him.

Maric needed him, that much was true. But Loghain needed to be in Denerim as much as Maric needed him there. In the capital, almost no one knew about the baby. Gwaren was isolated, and the Mac Tirs were certainly not fashionable enough to warrant many visitors. So, most of Ferelden had never even known the teryna was expecting another child. It was easy enough to simply not mention it, to pretend it had never happened. It broke his heart in new ways to act as though that tiny girl he'd held for such a short time had never existed at all, but he couldn't imagine explaining it to people. Especially to the people in Denerim, people who weren't really his friends. People who would have gossiped behind his back. Who would have said he was cursed by the Maker, as the punishment for having been elevated above his station, or that it was no more than he deserved for things he'd done during the Rebellion.

Maric knew the truth, but it was one of the things they simply never discussed. One of several.

So he stayed in Denerim, where he reforged a friendship with Maric, and quietly ruled the kingdom its king had chosen to neglect. After a while, Loghain no longer considered Gwaren his home. It was only a place he visited, occasionally, for short spans of time, when he could bring himself to do it. He brought Anora with him to the capital, as often as he could manage without feeling guilty for depriving Celia of the girl's presence. And he tried not to think about what he was doing. What he wasn't doing. The fact that he had abandoned his wife when she must have needed him the most, even though she had never been able to tell him what she needed from him, or how he could give it to her.

He knew she blamed herself, both for Deirdre's death, and for what happened afterwards. For Loghain's departure. The midwife had been clear that Celia had been too damaged by this pregnancy to ever bear another child. Even though they'd never spoken of it, Loghain felt certain Celia believed he was angry with her for not being able to bear him any more children, angry she couldn't give him a son.

But none of that was true. It was the farthest thing from the truth. He didn't blame Celia for the baby's death. He didn't blame Celia for anything, and he couldn't have cared less about whether or not they would have more children. He wasn't angry. Not at her, anyway.

Even so, however, the thought of going to her was . . . uncomfortable. Overwhelming. He didn't want to be close to her. He didn't want to be close to anyone who might leave him. Who might die. He was still haunted by the deaths of his parents, and losing his daughter had been . . . unimaginably worse. And when he thought of how close he had come to losing Celia . . . that had been the worst of all.

So he'd left. He'd run away. He knew it was ridiculous, to leave the woman he loved in order to avoid losing her. Of course, it wasn't the first time he'd walked away from someone he loved.

Again, the question pushed at his mind, demanding to be asked. The question he'd been avoiding, and wanted to continue avoiding forever. He pushed it away, but he knew it wouldn't be long before it would insist upon his full attention.

He'd always intended to go back, or that's the lie he told himself, anyway. Someday, when he knew what to say. When enough time had passed that he and Celia could start over again without their grief weighing so heavily. When he could think of her without worrying about the future. But that day never came, and as time passed, it became harder and harder to even consider going back.

Now it was too late. Celia, his gentle, loving, beautiful wife was gone, along with any hope he had for redemption.

Not that he deserved redemption.

Because he knew the truth. Even if he had it to do again, if he known for certain she was going to die when she did, he would have stayed in Denerim. He hadn't wanted to see her, not really. It would have been like seeing a ghost, the ghost of someone else's life. It would have brought him face to face with all the regrets he had for the life he had lived, and grief for the life that had escaped him. Would seeing him have given Celia any comfort? Possibly. He guessed she had never entirely given up on him, in spite of everything. But seeing her, at the end, might have brought him comfort as well, something he certainly did not deserve.

His head ached, and he rubbed at the back of his neck to relieve the pressure. As if his neck were the problem. There were simply too many thoughts and feelings rumbling around inside of him, and he couldn't separate them out from one another. His grief over Celia's death, and his guilt over what had happened between them. The lingering ache that remained at the memory of his tiny, dead daughter. His anger over what had been done to Rhianna Cousland. And underneath it all a desperate fear he couldn't seem to shake. Fear that something even more horrible had been only narrowly averted. Fear that this was merely the eye in the storm, and there was worse yet to come.

Then again, he always felt as though there was something worse yet to come. That was another habit, long engrained, he hadn't been able to shake.

His eyes landed on the small bundle on the hearth. The kitten. Well, at least after tomorrow his daughter's pyre would no longer be the smallest he'd ever built. The daughter who, if she had lived, would have been even older than Rhianna Cousland is now.

Rhianna.

He would have done anything - _anything_ - to take away the girl's suffering. To take away her terror, to have lived through so many hours in the cold in her stead, if only she could have been spared. Just as he would have done anything to take away his wife's suffering. To have lived through her grief and her sorrow and her guilt, to have freed her from those things so she could be happy. But he didn't have the ability. It simply wasn't possible. Not for Rhianna. Not for Celia. Not for anyone, ever.

And instead, he'd been cause of even more suffering. So much more suffering.

He took another deep breath, and then another, and another, until he no longer felt the need to vomit.

This brief moment of physical relief was followed almost immediately by the thought that had been stalking him. The question he didn't want to ask. The damnable question floating around at the edges of his mind. Now, it finally burst through, demanding to be noticed. Demanding an answer. Mocking him, because he knew what the answer would be.

Loghain laughed aloud, a harsh, humorless sound that echoed off the paneled walls and the stones of the hearth. Of course he'd known all along.

_Had it worked?_

That was the question.

Had it worked? His withdrawal from Gwaren, from his wife, from his life.

Had it worked? Had running away from everything helped in any way? Had it done what he had intended? Did this hurt less because of the distance he had forced between himself and Celia?

Or was he now faced not only with grief over her death, but with grief over the time he had lost? The wasted years he stayed away, drinking whiskey with Maric, telling himself Ferelden needed him more than his family needed him at home? Grief over losing the precious time he and Celia could have had together if he hadn't been so stubborn and thick-headed and stupid and scared?

_Had it worked? _

Sitting in front of the cold fireplace, he put his face in his hands, and he wept.

•o•

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_Trigger Warning: C__omplications with pregnancy, and the death of a newborn infant. _

_Note: if you would like to see artwork showing the locket with Celia's portrait, please visit the "Extras" link on my profile. There you'll find a variety of artwork, maps, timelines, and other supplemental information that accompanies this story. _


	9. Guide me through the blackest nights

_**27 August, Dragon Age, 9:20  
**__**Gwaren Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

A small, solemn group gathered around the tiny wooden pyre Loghain had built before the sun had risen. Atop the pyre, the kitten looked as though it was merely asleep. The stiffness had, indeed, been gone this morning, and after rearranging its limbs and brushing out its fur to the best of his ability, Loghain had been satisfied with the result. The creature looked surprisingly lifelike, no longer the twisted horror it had been the night before.

Watching Rhianna inspect the pyre, Loghain felt . . . calm. A bit hollow, perhaps, after confronting all the feelings bottled up inside him for months. It had been cathartic, though. This morning, he felt less tense, less unsettled. He no longer felt as though something dark and foul was creeping up the path to knock on his door in the dead of night. Probably, the feeling would return in a few days, but for now, he cherished its absence. A few hours more sleep would have been welcome; he hadn't intended to build the pyre before dawn, but when a dream had awoken him - a prickly thing, full of shadowy faces and steel and flickering lights - he saw no point in laying on his back chasing after sleep that would surely not return.

In front of the pyre, Rhianna now stood tall, her shoulders held back, as she prepared to deliver the eulogy. Beside her and a single step behind, her brother held the torch. Loghain and the others stood in an arc behind the Cousland children, watching in silence.

Abruptly, Rhianna turned to Loghain, her face flushed and her eyes bright. Hurrying to his side, she tugged at his arm, urging him close so she could whisper into his ear.

"I don't know his name!"

Loghain's brow wrinkled. His name? The person who had locked her in the dungeon? Did she have some reason to think it was a man?

"Whose name?" he asked.

"The kitten's name!" She was breathless. "What am I to call him? Will the Maker receive him without a name?"

Ah, so that's what was troubling her. This wasn't about a person at all.

"It's all right, Rhianna," he assured her. "The Maker knows the kitten's name, even if you don't. I've lit pyres for a great many people whose names I did not know." It was the truth; during the Rebellion, Loghain Mac Tir had commended more souls than he could count to the Maker, without giving a thought to what their mothers might have called them. Fereldan and Orlesian alike. He'd never been able to stomach mistreatment of one's enemies. Not after they were dead, that is. "You can just say he was your friend. I promise, that will be fine."

Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her breath, a touch of uncertainty remaining in her eyes, but after a moment she swallowed, and nodded, and returned to her place in front of the pyre. She coughed, and her shoulders hitched as she bent slightly at the waist, almost as though she were struggling to catch her breath. Then she stood straight again and began to speak, her voice steady as it rang through the cool morning air.

"_O Maker, hear my cry.  
__Guide me through the blackest nights.  
__Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.  
__Make me to rest in the warmest places._

"Transfigurations, 12:1

"We come here today to honor the spirit of this dear friend, an innocent kitten who was taken from us far too soon. We ask Andraste to guide our friend to the side of the Maker, and that the Maker receive this spirit, and give our friend an eternal home at His side.

"_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
__From these emerald waters doth life begin anew.  
__Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
__In my arms, lies Eternity._

"Andraste, 14:11."

She turned and nodded once to Fergus. He stepped forward, bringing the torch down to the kindling Loghain had carefully placed so the fire would burn fast and hot. With a soft "whoosh" of air, the small furred body was engulfed in flames while the six members of this unusual funeral party stood and watched.

After lighting the pyre, Fergus retreated, moving beside Anora.

"Your sister is quite good at this," Anora whispered. "At the verses of the Chant. Has she really been to so many funerals?"

Fergus shook his head. "Not for people, no. But we have ceremonies regularly for animals who died at the castle. I built a pyre for a mouse, once."

Directly across from Loghain, Bryce looked into the flames, his mouth set in a deep frown, his blue eyes glittering. Eleanor's face was softer, one of her teeth pulling at her bottom lip. Fergus stood with his shoulders slightly stooped, as though the wind had been taken out of him. And after her smile at Fergus's response had faded, even Anora looked troubled, her nose wrinkled, with tiny lines creasing her normally smooth brow.

Certainly, no one assembled could be expected to smile. Somewhere in Denerim, there was a person - possibly someone they all knew - malicious enough to do something horrible to a child. To the child who had just recited a funeral prayer from the Chant of Light. A funeral for a kitten. A funeral that could so easily have been Rhianna's instead.

Just how close had she come to freezing to death? Hours? If Loghain hadn't found her when he did . . . a girl so small, and she'd been so cold when he'd pulled her out of that cell. And what if whomever did this had come back for her and . . . hurt her?

His hands had clenched into fists, and he forced himself to relax.

Rhianna was safe; she was alive, and nothing else mattered right now.

In a very few minutes, Loghain's well-constructed pyre had burned down completely. He'd had rather a lot of practice building them, after all.

After the flames had died and only glowing coals remained, Eleanor stepped forward, putting her hands on Rhianna's shoulders.

"Come along, darling. That was lovely, and I'm certain your small friend will have found a place at the side of the Maker. But perhaps we should leave now. After all the excitement yesterday, I think we should have a quiet day at home."

Rhianna's face was calm and her eyes were dry, but her cheeks were flushed pink, no doubt from standing so close to the pyre.

"Please Mother, there is something I want to talk about with Teyrn Loghain. Might I stay for just little while longer?"

Eleanor frowned, as if it were an odd request, but after a moment she let out a sigh. Probably she was in no mood to deny the child anything.

"I suppose it would be all right for you to stay a few minutes," she consented. "If it's all right with you, Loghain?"

"Of course," he agreed. "I'll bring her home myself, when we're done."

Eleanor and Bryce both knelt to hug their daughter, and Fergus kissed her on the top of her head. Then the three Couslands, escorted by Anora, left the garden.

Rhianna knelt by the pyre once again, this time inspecting it to make sure it had fully burned. Satisfied it had been properly done, she got back to her feet, and turned to the teyrn.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" she asked. "You said last night there was something in particular."

"Let's go sit near the rose bushes, shall we?" He offered her his hand, and she took it, wrapping her fingers around his. Her palm felt damp and warm.

Loghain led her to the edge of the garden, to sit on a bench overlooking the small reflecting pool.

"Something happened to me, last night, Rhianna," he began, "While I was looking for you. Something that had never happened to me before. I want to ask what you think about it."

She nodded agreeably. "All right."

"When I was near the Chantry yesterday evening, I saw a rat. That isn't unusual, but this rat behaved differently from any I'd seen before. It ran right in front me, and stopped, and looked straight at me. Then when I tried to walk away, it ran in front of me again. I got the idea it wanted me to follow." He paused, studying her expression. "And even though I'm not in the habit of following after animals like this, I decided to do it, just this once." She blinked while looking up at him, but her face showed no surprise at the description of the creature's behavior.

"Can you guess where it led me?" he asked.

"To me."

"Yes. To you. That's not the sort of thing that happens, generally. Perhaps with dogs. I had a mabari once, and she was very clever like that. But not other animals. Not rats. But this one certainly seemed to know where you were trapped, and wanted to help me find you. Do you know anything about this?"

"Yes," she admitted, looking down at her hands. "That rat - I don't know her name either," she added, shaking her head, "came into the . . . cell, after I'd been there a while. After the kitten had already died, I think.

"Anyway, she climbed in through the opening in the door. I was a bit scared at first, because I could hear her, but I couldn't see her, but then when she came near, I knew right away she was friendly. I asked her to help me get out, and she's the one who brought me the key. But my arm wasn't long enough to reach through the window and put it in the lock. So, instead, I asked her to go find someone to help me. I thought as hard as I could about my father's face, so she would know what he looked like. And then I thought as hard as I could about your face. I knew if she could just find either one of you, you'd come to save me."

Something in his chest tightened, in an almost painful way, at those words. At the innocent trust she had in him. Was that what he'd seen in her eyes the night before? The thing he couldn't identify, the thing that had made him feel unworthy?

Because he was nothing if not unworthy.

It simply was not possible he deserved the trust this child had placed him him. Not hardly. All his life, he'd done one thing after another to disappoint people, to let them down, occasionally to betray them, or abandon them. His wife, his mother . . . and how many others?

For Rhianna to believe in him that much, believe he would come for her . . .

That of all the people she knew, she had thought of _him_ in her darkest moment . . .

He looked away, needing a moment to catch his breath. Maker's blood. He didn't deserve anyone's trust. Not anyone's, except perhaps Maric's. And probably not even Maric's. No, definitely not even Maric's. But somehow, unbelievably, this child had decided to trust him. This precious little girl gazing up at him now. No matter how unworthy he was, Rhianna Cousland believed in him. Trusted him.

And, Maker be praised, this one time, for the first time in years, perhaps the first time ever, he had lived up to someone's trust.

"That's why she got your attention," Rhianna added. "Because I asked her to try and find you. Is that what you wanted to know?"

He exhaled, feeling somewhat lightheaded. "Yes, that's exactly what I wanted to know." He took another breath. "I am also curious about what happened with you and the kitten. You said you saw it being kicked by someone wearing a boot. A . . . vision of that, anyway. And you knew where to find the squirrels when we walked in the palace garden the other day. Does this sort of thing . . . does it happen to you often?"

"Oh yes. Pretty much all the time. Animals like me, and I like them. So we talk to each other."

"And they . . . talk back?"

"Well, it's not like people talking. Not like we're talking right now. It's more like pictures in my mind. The kitten put a picture of being kicked into my mind, so I knew what happened to him. And I put a picture of you into the rat's mind, so she'd know what you looked like. I expect anyone could do it if they wanted, but most people just never try."

"I'm not sure I agree, Rhianna. I don't think just anyone can talk to animals. And expect them to answer back, I mean."

She shrugged. "It is true I've never met anyone else who gets along with animals quite as well as I do. I just like them, that's all. I always have. As far back as I can remember I've been talking to animals. They're usually nicer to me than people are. Most people, I mean. Not my parents and my brother, or you. But a lot of people aren't really very nice. Or if they are nice, it's probably just because I'm the daughter of a teyrn, so it doesn't really count. Animals don't care about things like that."

Maker's breath, did she really feel that way? Already, at her age, to believe people were only nice to her because she was the daughter of a teyrn? Not that she was wrong, necessarily. And he could hardly blame her for wanting to have friends who didn't care about her parentage. He understood that feeling well enough.

Something else she had said . . . this had been happening as far back as she could remember? That seemed like a good sign. Magic usually didn't appear until children were older. Sometimes even older than Rhianna is now. So if she'd been able to do this for years, it probably was something non-magical. Maybe she was right, and anyone could do it if they just bothered to try.

Even so . . .

"Is there anything else . . . unusual?" he questioned. "Anything unusual that happens to you, I mean. Not with animals. But other things. Fires burning brighter when you look at them, or things falling off shelves when you get angry?"

"Oh! You think this means I'm a mage." She shook her head. "No, I don't think it's magic at all, although I did wonder about that once. So I asked Geoffrey about it. He's our court mage in Highever. I didn't tell him my secret, exactly, but I asked him if he could talk to animals, and he said he couldn't. That he didn't know of any mages that could, not accidentally anyway. Not without casting spells and saying words and making hand gestures and things. And I'm certainly not doing any of that. It's just something that happens."

Loghain let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"You said this was your 'secret?' Does that mean you haven't told anyone? Your parents, your brother. Do any of them know?"

"No, they don't know about it. I haven't told anyone. Not except you. Maybe they've guessed, but I don't think so. I think they would have said something about it. They just think I'm silly, talking to things that don't talk back. But I don't really want people to know. It makes me a bit . . . nervous, to think about other people knowing. I wouldn't want anyone thinking it was magic. They might send me away to Kinloch Hold by mistake, and that doesn't sound like a very nice place at all, from what I've heard."

No, it wasn't a very nice place. And he doubted she'd heard even a tenth of the stories Loghain had heard about it.

"Well, you don't have to worry about me telling anyone. I'll keep your secret, unless you want me to tell. Maybe it would be easier telling your parents if we did it together." It might not be a bad idea for them to know about this. They should be told at some point, certainly.

"No. I'd rather keep it a secret. For now, anyway."

"All right. No one will hear about it from me, then. I promise."

So it most likely wasn't magic, thank the Maker. It was remarkable nonetheless. And had possibly saved her life.

No, not possibly. She'd been so cold when he'd found her, shivering in that damp dress.

Certainly. It had certainly saved her life.

After a few minutes of companionable silence, she placed one of her hands on his knee. Her eyes were shining, and her cheeks were still flushed a bright shade of pink.

"May I ask a favor of you, Teyrn Loghain?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Will you teach me to fight with a sword? Fergus keeps promising he'll teach me, but he's always too busy, and I think he thinks I'm too little yet to learn. But I'm not too little. I'm not." She shook her head for emphasis. "Squires learn to use a sword, and practice with the quintain when they're eight. And that's how old I am. I might be small, but I know I can learn. And you're the best swordsman in all of Ferelden. Perhaps in all of Thedas. I know I could learn if you're willing to teach me. I'd practice very hard, I promise. Will you show me, please?"

Her eyes were wide, and her breath was coming rapidly, with a slight rasping sound from deep within her chest. Clearly, this meant a lot to her.

"Rhianna," he began, carefully. "You do realize, even if you'd known how to fight with a sword, it wouldn't have kept you from getting locked in that cell yesterday. Right?"

"I know that." She coughed into her hand. "But . . . when I was locked away, I felt so small, and I was so scared. Especially those few minutes when someone came downstairs into the hallway. I was so afraid whoever it was might come in and . . . and hurt me. Or maybe a monster might come in the darkness, and I wouldn't have been able to do anything. I don't ever want to feel like that, not ever again." She stopped to take a deep breath, and her eyes squeezed shut for a moment as she shuddered, slightly, with the effort of breathing. "If I learn how to fight, how to really fight, not just punch boys in the nose, I won't feel so scared, not ever again."

A reasonable request . . .

Except knowing how to fight didn't protect you from being scared. He should know. She was right: there were few people in Ferelden better than Loghain with a sword. But in spite of that, fear had been a near-constant companion during the Rebellion, and at various times afterward.

Last night, for example.

But he couldn't tell her that. Not now, at any rate. He couldn't take from her this simple thing that might help her feel safe again, help her feel she had some control over her life. Something that might allow her to feel less helpless. And if she did apply herself, she would _be_ less helpless, which could only be a good thing.

"All right, Rhianna. I'll teach you to use a sword. When would you like your first lesson?"

"Oh, thank you, Teyrn Loghain!" Her face lit up as a thin giggle escaped her throat. "I knew you'd say yes. I just knew it. You're always so good to me. Can we have a lesson right now? Today? My parents didn't say when I needed to be home, after all. Can we, please?"

"All right," he chuckled. "But we're going to do this properly. Let's go to Fort Drakon, and see if we can't find you some armor that isn't too terribly large." He looked her up and down. She really was small, even for her age. "Something dwarven, perhaps, or made for an elf. Then I'll find a short sword for you, and I'll show you what to do with it."

Still smiling, she started to push herself up to her feet, but collapsed back onto the bench. Her chest was heaving, her eyes wide.

"Rhianna?" Loghain grasped one of her arms. "What is it? Are you all right?"

"I . . . I don't feel so good," she groaned. Her shoulders sagged, and she coughed again, having a hard time keeping herself upright. Her cheeks were bright red now, and her eyes looked glassy. He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead.

Maker's blood. She was burning up with fever. This wasn't from standing too close to the pyre; she must have caught some illness the previous day.

Another bout of coughing wracked her thin frame. "Teyrn Loghain," she whimpered, "my head hurts, and I . . . I don't think I can stand up by myself."

She began to lean forward, and Loghain hurried to catch her, gathering her into his arms before she fell to the ground.

Moving as fast as possible without jostling her too much, he headed toward the house.

As he entered the first floor hallway running through the center of the Gwaren estate, he bellowed, "Anora! Uthalas! I need you. Now!"

He carried Rhianna into his study, and as he laid her down on the sofa, Anora rushed into the room, followed a few moments later by Loghain's footman.

"Father?" He heard a sharp intake of breath when she saw Rhianna. "What happened?"

"I don't know; she's caught some illness, I think." He put a cushion behind Rhianna's head, and reached for a blanket. "We were talking in the garden, and she collapsed. She's been coughing, and she's running a fever. Anora. I need you to go to the palace, and ask Maric to send the healer. Then go to the Highever estate and tell Bryce and Eleanor their daughter is ill."

Anora didn't respond right away; she stood there, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide, staring at Rhianna. "Is she going to be all right?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"I hope so. Please, Anora," he entreated, "just go. As quickly as you can. Rhianna needs the court mage. Uthalas, will you please go with her?"

Anora nodded, as did the footman, and they both hurried out of the room.

Loghain felt Rhianna's forehead again. It was hot, but not dangerously so. Sometimes fevers were good; they seemed to burn off the ill-humours that had overtaken the body. But too high of a fever could cause convulsions, which were anything but good. In spite of the fever, the girl was shivering, so Loghain tucked the blanket close around her body. Then he reached beneath one edge to take hold of one of her small hands. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to be working hard just to breathe.

_Blessed Andraste_, _please don't let this be serious. Please don't let anything bad happen to this child. Not again, not after what happened to her yesterday. Not Rhianna. Please._

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that, holding her hand, when a knock sounded at the main entrance to the estate. A minute later, one of the servants ushered a tall woman in robes into the room. Jocelyn, Maric's court mage.

"Teyrn Loghain," she greeted him. "Your daughter said the Cousland girl is ill?"

"Yes." Loghain stood and stepped out of the way so the healer could take his place. Jocelyn felt Rhianna's forehead, and the girl moaned softly in response.

"What is her first name?" Jocelyn asked.

"Rhianna."

"Rhianna?" the woman murmured, as she knelt on the floor. Rhianna's eyes fluttered open, and she breathed through her open mouth as though it was a chore to do so. "I'm a healer, Rhianna. I came here at Teyrn Loghain's request. He said you're not well. Will you tell me how you feel? Are you in any pain?"

The girl turned her head and coughed into the cushion twice, weakly, as though she barely had the energy for it. "My head hurts . . . quite a lot . . . and my throat is sore. And . . . I'm sort of . . . achey in my legs, and in my back." She whimpered softly. Loghain's instinct was to move closer and comfort her, take her hand once again, but he didn't want to interrupt. "And my arm . . . hurts. Where I was bitten yesterday, by fleas, I think."

At the mention of fleas, the healer glanced at Loghain, a frown on her face. Then the woman pulled aside the blanket to examine Rhianna's arms. The two bite marks which had been barely noticeable yesterday were now bright red, and swelled up to the size of grapes.

Jocelyn tucked Rhianna's arm back under the blanket, and stood, turning to Loghain. "I think . . ." She paused, as though she did not want to finish the statement. "I think this girl . . . has the plague."

"Plague?" Loghain's legs felt weak beneath him, and for a moment his vision went cloudy. The plague? But the plague killed people. A lot of people. Most of the people who caught it. And Rhianna was so very small . . .

"Surely, that's not possible. There hasn't been an outbreak of plague in Denerim for years."

"Well, unfortunately we have seen a number of cases over the past few months. Mostly in the Alienage, but a few on the docks, and in the western part of town, beyond the Chantry. I've seen enough cases to know the symptoms. And those swellings on her arm are . . . quite distinctive."

He rested his hand on the back of the sofa to steady himself. "What do we do? Can you help her?"

"I can't cure her, if that's what you're asking. That requires healing magic I do not possess. The best I can do is make her more comfortable while we wait to see if she is strong enough to fight off the illness on her own. Mostly, the spells and potions I can give her will ease the pain." Pain? "I will stay as long as I am needed," she added. "Do you intend to remain here? It would be very helpful to have someone else with me, but I know it is a lot to ask."

She was asking if he intended to stay? How could he possibly leave? Not if Rhianna was really so ill.

"I'm not going anywhere. And I expect her parents will feel the same."

"Good. Thank you. I'll . . . well, if you'd be so kind as to bring me some heated water, I'll begin crafting potions."

There was noise in the hallway, and Anora hurried into the sitting room, along with Eleanor and Fergus Cousland. When Eleanor caught sight of her daughter lying on the couch, she stopped abruptly.

"Anora said Rhianna is ill? What is it? What's wrong with her?"

Loghain stepped forward, placing his hands on Eleanor's shoulders to keep her from coming any farther into the room. "Anora," he said with a glance at his daughter, "please stay by the door. You too, Fergus." When his eyes met Eleanor's, he had to force himself not to look away from the fear he saw there. "Eleanor." He took a breath, holding her gaze. "The mage believes it's . . . the plague."

The teyrna's body shuddered beneath his hands.

"No," she moaned, her hand flying to her mouth as her eyes grew bright. "No, Blessed Andraste, not the plague. Not my little girl. This isn't possible. There's no plague in Denerim, is there? We've heard it was only in the south this year."

"Maric's healer is here," he soothed, "and we are going to do everything possible for Rhianna." He paused. "Are you sure you want to stay? It would be safer for you to return to Highever House, and not risk being infected."

"Risk being infected? My daughter might die," Eleanor retorted, her eyes flashing. "I'm not leaving her side."

"I understand." That is what he'd expected her to say. "Where is Bryce?"

"He went to see Leonas Bryland after the funeral. He doesn't even know Rhianna is ill."

"Perhaps it would be best, then, if he stayed away," Loghain suggested. "Jocelyn, the king's healer, is going to stay with us. I think the three of us together can care for Rhianna, and it might be wise not to risk anyone else becoming ill."

"Yes, that's a good idea. If Bryce and I were to both . . ." She stopped mid-sentence, and turned to her son. "Fergus, I want you and Anora to go find your father, and tell him what happened. Then go back to Highever House and stay there. All of you. Tell your father I said he's not to come here. We can't risk him getting ill."

"Perhaps I should stay to help," Fergus argued.

"No." Eleanor's tone brooked no argument. "I expect you to do as I have said. I'll not take any unnecessary chance that any of you might catch this. Now go to your father." She shifted her gaze to Anora. "Both of you, please."

Anora's face was pale, and even from across the room, Loghain could see she was trembling, terrified. Plague had killed her mother only months before. He wanted to go to his daughter, to hold her and comfort her, but he couldn't risk it, not after being in direct contact with Rhianna.

"Anora," Loghain began, "I want you to do as Eleanor asked. Go with Fergus, and stay at Highever House for the duration of Rhianna's illness."

"But what about you, Father?" Her lower lip quivered. "You've never had the plague before, either. What if you . . .?"

He held her gaze, as if he could will her to not be afraid just by trying hard enough.

"I'll be fine, Norrie." That might or might not turn out to be the truth, but he'd held Rhianna in his arms; it was too late now for him to worry about being infected. "I need to help tend to Rhianna without worrying you might fall ill, as well. Do you understand? I don't want you coming back here until you hear from me it is safe."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, clearly unhappy, but after a moment, she sighed. "All right, Father. I'll go with Fergus."

As the two young people left, Loghain turned to his footman, who was standing in the doorway. "Uthalas, I would like you to gather all the household staff, and go with them to the palace. Tell Maric I need everyone housed and fed for the next few days at least. I don't want to risk any of you getting ill."

"Yes, Your Grace," the elf agreed.

Loghain let out a breath, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. If only he'd had a few more hours of sleep last night.

"I'm going to the kitchen to see about some hot water." Loghain stepped close to the teyrna, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Please make yourself at home, Eleanor."

Her breath hitched, as though she were fighting back a sob, but she smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Loghain." Her eyes were green; he'd never noticed their color before. Just a shade lighter than her daughter's. One strand of hair had come out of its braid, and hung down into her face.

"She's going to be all right, Eleanor." He put a bit of pressure where his hand rested on her shoulder, a gesture of comfort. "You'll see. Rhianna will make it through this. I swear it."

It had to be the truth. It _had _to be.

•o•


	10. To the gates of the Black City and back

_**30 August, 9:20 Dragon  
**__**Gwaren Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

Sitting at the large kitchen table, Eleanor Cousland considered the plate of food in front of her, feeling vaguely nauseous. It was chicken, a chicken Loghain had roasted himself, and afterwards put the carcass in a pot over the fire for the beginnings of soup he intended to feed to Rhianna when she was strong enough to eat. It tasted quite good, seasoned with rosemary, basil and thyme, but Eleanor's stomach wanted nothing whatsoever to do with food. If she neglected to eat, however, if she failed to take proper care of herself, she would be of no use to her daughter. And possibly at higher risk of getting sick herself.

Eleanor had never been more exhausted in her entire life, nor had she ever felt more afraid. Seeing Rhianna like this, so desperately ill, was indescribably horrible. This was the first time Eleanor had seen the plague at such close range, or at any range, really, and it was a truly awful disease. Watching it progress, watching its corruption spread across her daughter's flesh, was worse than anything she had ever witnessed, even during the Occupation. And she had seen terrible things during the Occupation.

Then there was the pain. Such a lot of pain. At first, there had been aches in Rhianna's muscles and back, and the inflamed bites on her arm had become tender to the touch. Then more swellings appeared, on her neck and in her armpits. These were horrifying to see, dark red and swollen, some beginning to turn black as though the girl's flesh were rotting. Even a slight amount of pressure against any of them caused Rhianna to cry out in agony; wearing a nightgown had become impossible, because even the touch of the fabric had been more than she could bear. Instead, they had stoked up the fire in the bedroom Rhianna had been given, and covered her with just the lightest of sheets.

That, along with the potions from Jocelyn, seemed to ease the girl's suffering enough that she could spend most of her time asleep. But even that wasn't a perfect refuge; Rhianna often whimpered and moaned while she was sleeping. Hearing her daughter - her sweet, beautiful, beloved daughter - cry out from the pain, even in her sleep, was almost unbearable. Even now, Eleanor imagined she could hear the sound of Rhianna's cries.

She stabbed a piece of chicken onto her fork and forced it past her lips, then washed it down with a swallow of sweet honey mead. When it threatened to come back up again, she breathed slowly, deeply, through her nose, willing her stomach to be calm, to accept the food. Her breath caught in her chest, and she fought back the urge to cry, an urge that had been a familiar visitor these past few days.

If only she could give into the feeling and allow herself the luxury of crying, of really crying. To let out everything bottled up inside, all the fear and anger and guilt and dread. But if she started crying, if she let herself go, she might not be able to stop. She might not be able to put herself back together again.

Perhaps it would have been possible if Bryce were here, to hold her, to whisper in her ear the words she wanted to hear: that Rhianna would recover, that everything was going to be all right. So many times over the past two days, she had considered writing to him, begging him to come. But she hadn't. She couldn't. It wasn't worth the risk of him being infected. So far, none of the adults tending to Rhianna had shown any signs of illness, thank the Maker, but there was no point in taking chances, not with so deadly a disease. And perhaps it was better for Bryce he was not here to see this, to watch his daughter suffer. He was surely going through his own version of hell, worrying about her from afar, but that had to be better than seeing the girl in so much pain.

Thankfully, everything had been quiet for the past couple of hours. The mage's potions and spells did seem to ease Rhianna's suffering, for a time at least.

Eleanor lifted another mouthful of food to her lips, but simply couldn't bring herself to eat it. Her stomach was so tied up in knots, she feared she might throw up if she tried to force down another bite. She set down the fork, and pushed the plate away.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Eleanor took a few deep, calming breaths before getting up from the table. She walked up the stairs, taking them slowly, one at a time, and holding tight to the railing. Maker's breath, she was exhausted, and desperately needed to sleep. Since Rhianna had fallen ill, Eleanor, Loghain, and Jocelyn had taken turns caring for the girl during the day and sitting up with her through the dark hours of the night. With three of them on hand, there had been plenty of opportunities for Eleanor to rest, but she often found herself unable to sleep. She tossed and turned, and imagined Rhianna's voice calling out for her, and when she did manage to sleep, her dreams were dark and horrible.

But there was only so long she could go without proper rest; it seemed she had passed that point this evening. Perhaps Loghain would agree to sit up with Rhianna for just a few more hours, while Eleanor lay down and tried to sleep.

She hated to ask more of him, but she was certain if she did ask, he would agree. Loghain had been wonderful. On the first day of Rhianna's illness, while the mage had prepared potions, Loghain had carried Rhianna up the stairs into one of the guest bedrooms, and given Eleanor the room next door. When Rhianna cried out because the light hurt her eyes, he had hurried to close all the curtains, making sure not even a sliver of daylight peeked through. Then he had put up a screen in front of the hearth, to dim the light from the fire. He'd cooked food for them to eat, and had found clothes for Eleanor to borrow, things belonging to Anora, since the teyrna certainly hadn't come prepared for an extended stay.

Now, from the doorway of the bedroom, Eleanor watched as Loghain sat in a chair pulled close to the bed, holding one of Rhianna's hands in his own as the girl slept.

Maker bless him. The Couslands, and Rhianna in particular, were fortunate to have Loghain Mac Tir as a friend.

The pleasure this sight had given her faded when she took a closer look at her daughter. Rhianna's face was so pale her skin appeared almost transparent, and dark smudges circled her eyes. Her lips were dry and cracked, her hair was stringy, and her forehead shone with sweat from the fever that had yet to break. Even in her sleep, breathing was a chore. She pulled breath in through her opened mouth, and her chest rose and fell erratically with the effort. To keep the pressure off the swellings on her neck and her arms, her head was tilted back at an awkward angle, and her arms were splayed as though she were trying to make a snow angel. Some of those lesions had darkened, the skin becoming nearly black.

She looked so small, so helpless, her lips pinched together in a slight frown, even as she slept.

Yes, this was, without a doubt, the worst, the most frightening, the most difficult thing Eleanor had ever experienced.

_"Blessed Andraste_," she prayed silently, "_please don't take my daughter from me_. _Please let her recover from this. Please._"

As if he heard her prayer, Loghain looked up.

"Eleanor." His mouth stretched into a thin line, and turned up at one corner, an expression that was probably meant to be a smile, but rather failed the mark. She could hardly blame him; smiling was difficult at the moment.

"Did you eat?" he asked.

"I did. A few bites, anyway." Eleanor sat down on the bed near her daughter's feet. "Please don't be offended that I didn't eat much. It is not a reflection on the quality of your cooking; I just don't have much of an appetite at the moment."

At that, he did smile, briefly, a smile that looked genuine. "Fair enough." His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you go get some rest, Eleanor? I'll sit up with Rhianna a while longer."

"Oh, Loghain, are you sure you don't mind? To be honest, I had come in here thinking to ask if you wouldn't mind sitting up with her. But you've done so much already. And you look as exhausted as I feel." It was true. He had dark circles to rival Rhianna's, and sat slumped in the chair as though he didn't have the energy to hold himself upright.

"I look exhausted? So, is that the way things are done in Highever? Insulting one's host? It's a wonder your daughter ever learned any manners at all." One corner of his mouth turned up, and he winked at her, a wink that took rather longer than usual, but a wink, nonetheless.

"Yes, well fortunately," she joked, "Rhianna learned most of her manners from her father. He's far more civilized than I am." She gave him a smile, or attempted to, anyway.

"And good thing, too." He chuckled, deep in his throat. "In all honesty, though? I have long suspected my own daughter spent rather a lot of time studying your manners. Not that there was anything wrong with the way Celia comported herself, but I think Anora felt the need for a role model who had been raised in the nobility, someone she could watch, and mimic to make certain she never made any hideously improper mistakes. She chose well, in my opinion." Before Eleanor could respond to this unexpected and quite touching compliment, he continued, "And don't worry about me, Eleanor, I'm fine for a few more hours, if you'd like to sleep."

She let out a long, slow breath. "Thank you, Loghain. I know it's a lot to ask, but I would like to try and rest, just a bit. I'll be next door, so call if you need anything."

Moving to the side of the bed opposite where Loghain sat, Eleanor placed a kiss on her daughter's forehead. Rhianna moaned in her sleep, and Eleanor thought she was going to wake, but after a few ragged breaths, the girl fell silent again. After exchanging another set of tired smiles with Loghain, Eleanor went next door to the bedroom she was using, and laid down on the bed, not bothering to remove her clothes or climb under the sheets.

•o•

"Mummy?"

Eleanor turned at the sound of her daughter's voice. Rhianna stood in the middle of a meadow filled with flowers. Funny to see so many flowers at this time of year. It was obvious, however, Rhianna was pleased: her smile lit her entire face. She looked so lovely, in a white dress with a ribbon at the neck, her hair hanging down past her shoulders, her feet bare.

"I have something for you, Mummy." Rhianna's use of the word brought a smile to Eleanor's face. Rhianna had stopped calling her "Mummy" a few years ago, and only used the term occasionally now. Usually when she was very sleepy, or not feeling well.

Not feeling well? Oh, that was a worrisome thought.

"You're not feeling ill, darling, are you?" A finger of anxiety traced its way down Eleanor's spine. The sunlight was so bright, almost too bright, reflecting off Rhianna's hair in a way that seemed to sparkle.

"Of course not, Mummy," the girl replied. "I feel fine." Stepping closer, she held out her hand. "Look what I found for you." Clutched between her slightly chubby fingers was a flower: a daffodil, yellow with an orange center. "It's a flower. Isn't it pretty?"

It was, indeed, pretty, but where had she found a daffodil, at this time of the year? It was late autumn, nearly winter. Daffodils were spring flowers, and should have all been dead months ago.

Dead.

Another tendril of fear wormed its way into Eleanor's consciousness.

Rhianna lifted her hand, offering the flower to Eleanor. "Take it. It's for you, Mummy." Rhianna's smile revealed her pearly white teeth. Her cheeks were round, and her green eyes shone in the sunlight. Her skin was kissed with a healthy glow, as though she'd spent the day out of doors.

Eleanor reached for the flower, but before her fingers could grasp it, it began to change. It turned black, first at the orange center, and then the darkness spread outward, engulfing the entire flower. In only a very few seconds, the daffodil was nothing but a blackened, shriveled thing, like the curled remains of leaves that had been burned in a fire.

Rhianna cried out in surprise and horror, and tried to throw the flower to the ground, but it wouldn't leave her hand. The corruption spread onto Rhianna's fingers, and then to her hand, and then began to creep up Rhianna's arm, turning the girl's skin black.

Eleanor screamed, and reached for her daughter, but Rhianna was too far away. The blackness crawled up her neck, and onto her face. Whimpering in fear and pain, Rhianna stumbled, and before Eleanor could reach her, the ground split open beneath the girl, the grass tearing apart with a sound like ripping fabric. Red earth was revealed beneath her. Red, like the gaping maw of some gigantic, ancient creature.

Rhianna fell backwards into the hole, and before Eleanor could grab her, stop her from falling, the ground closed up again, leaving nothing but a rough scar where the edges of the grass knit themselves back together again, leaving no trace that Rhianna had ever existed.

Falling to her knees, Eleanor clawed at the dirt and the grass, hot tears streaming down her face. But she could make no progress; for every clump of grass she torn away, a new one took its place, and the ground remained solid; she could find no trace of the hole into which Rhianna had disappeared.

With a sob rising in her chest, Eleanor knew it was far too late, and Rhianna was gone from her forever. She felt one of her fingernails tear away from its socket, but still she could not stop digging. How could she ever stop trying to find Rhianna, to rescue her, to bring her home where she would be safe and warm and loved? Eleanor's fingers, bloody now, dug into the soft earth again and again and again.

"ELEANOR!" It was a man's voice, but when she peered back over her shoulder, she saw no one.

She returned to her work, her fingers aching.

Again, the voice rang out loudly through the air.

•o•

"ELEANOR!"

She sat up in bed. The room was dark, although a dim light flickered in through the open door. She wiped at her cheek, and her fingers came away damp.

Where was she? Nothing looked familiar; this wasn't her bedroom in Highever, nor the one in the Denerim estate. Where in the world was she?

There had been a meadow. And Rhianna. Rhianna had fallen into a hole in the ground, her face dark with corruption. And there had been a flower . . .

That still didn't explain where she was now . . . and she needed to know, so she could look for her daughter . . .

In a rush, as her mind came fully awake, she remembered.

She was in the Gwaren estate. Teyrn Loghain's home in Denerim. And Rhianna was ill, but there were no flowers, and the girl hadn't been swallowed up by the ground.

A dream. It had been a dream. Eleanor nearly sobbed with relief. Thank the Maker. It had been nothing more than a dream.

"No! Please, no! It hurts . . . Teyrn Loghain, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Make it stop, please . . . please make it stop. Please."

Rhianna's voice, ringing through the dark house. This was no dream.

"Eleanor! I need you NOW!"

Blessed Andraste, it was Loghain she had heard, Loghain's voice that had roused her from her sleep.

Something was wrong.

Eleanor slid off the bed, and hurried into the adjacent room. Loghain was on the bed, with Rhianna cradled in his arms as she whimpered and clutched at him, her entire body shaking with the effort. Loghain's hands were covered in something dark, something that glistened in the flickering light, and there were dark stains on his shirt. Rhianna, too, was covered in it, in swathes down her chest.

Blood. Rhianna's blood.

"Oh, Maker," Eleanor moaned.

Loghain's head snapped in her direction. "Eleanor, go downstairs and get Jocelyn. Please."

"But . . .?" Eleanor's voice could barely be heard over the sounds of Rhianna's sobbing. "Oh, Maker, what happened?"

"The swellings have begun to burst. Please, Eleanor," he pleaded. "Get Jocelyn. Rhianna is in a great deal of pain."

As if to prove the point, the girl whimpered again, a pitiful sound. "Please . . . please, Teyrn Loghain, make it stop."

Eleanor turned and hurtled down the stairs.

Mere minutes later, Eleanor hovered at the foot of the bed while the healer examined Rhianna, who was still sobbing, her chest heaving as she panted for breath. Some of the lesions on Rhianna's neck had, indeed, burst open. The black skin at the edges was cracked and furled, and blood and yellow pus oozed from the wounds. An incredibly foul stench permeated the room, and a tear slid down Eleanor's face. She fought back the urge to vomit, not from the smell itself, but from the knowledge that this smell of death was coming from her daughter. Her precious little daughter.

Blessed Andraste. The dream. That horrible, horrifying dream. Rhianna standing on the grass clutching a daffodil, and then being eaten alive by some sort of corruption before she disappeared into the ground. Was it a premonition? Had some spirit from the Fade come to Eleanor in her sleep, warning that her daughter was going to die?

Jocelyn waved her hands in the air above Rhianna's head, and a ball of blue light formed between them. Slowly, the mage lowered her hands, causing the light to cascade down Rhianna's forehead. Immediately, the girl's whimpering lessened. The open sores on her neck looked no better, and her breathing was still labored, but she relaxed against Loghain. He shifted his position, supporting her body with his own while the mage did her work.

With a clean cloth and water, Jocelyn dabbed gently at the sores, cleaning away the worst of the pus and the blood, It was slow work, though, as Rhianna moaned with each touch of the cloth. After cleaning the wounds, Jocelyn wrapped bandages very loosely over the sores.

"Is there no poultice, or salve, you could use to heal those? Or a spell, perhaps?" Eleanor asked.

"I know they look awful," Jocelyn apologized, giving the teyrna a strained smile, "but they should be allowed to breathe for the time being. The illness is poisoning Rhianna's blood, and we want the poison to drain out. If I heal those sores, I fear it will all be trapped within her body."

When the mage had finished, she excused herself and returned downstairs. Rhianna seemed to be in less pain now. She was calm and quiet, clinging to one of Loghain's arms as he held her, rocking her slowly back and forth, his cheek resting on the top of her head, his eyes closed. He looked utterly exhausted.

"Loghain," Eleanor murmured, "you should go rest. I'll take over watching Rhianna."

He opened his eyes. "Yes. As soon as she falls back to sleep."

That appeared imminent; the girl's eyes were half closed and her mouth hung open, and her grip on Loghain's arm was starting to loosen. Eleanor sat on the bed to wait, focusing on her breath, trying to quench the fear raging inside of her. The dream. Again, she saw the flower turning black, watched her daughter fall backwards into a chasm in the ground. It wasn't real, none of it was real, nor was it a premonition. It was just a dream. That's all. Merely a dream.

Within a very few minutes, Rhianna's eyes had closed completely, and her breathing had settled into a fairly smooth rhythm. Loghain shifted himself off of the bed, supporting Rhianna's head carefully while he flipped over the pillow, turning the side covered in blood to the bottom, and then easing her down. The rest of the bedclothes were equally soiled, but changing them would have to wait until morning; there was no way Eleanor would consider disturbing Rhianna's rest. Not now. Not after . . . that.

Loghain quietly left the room, and Eleanor settled herself into the chair beside the bed. Rhianna looked calm now, a slight frown on her lips, but otherwise resting peacefully.

Eleanor glanced at the clock. It was only just past midnight. Maker's blood. There were still far too many dark hours stretching ahead until dawn. Hours of being haunted by images from her dream. Hours filled with dread of the moment her daughter would awaken, crying out in pain. Hours filled with terror that her daughter might never awaken at all.

She could think of just one thing that might help. Help her pass the time, and possibly help Rhianna, as well.

Prayer.

Although never particularly devout, Eleanor did believe in the Maker. She doubted, however, that He was watching now, or that He cared one way or the other about the small girl lying near death in this bed. The Maker had turned his back on the world more than once, and Eleanor had no patience for a god willing to do that. So she wouldn't pray to the Maker.

But there was someone else who might listen, someone who had loved Her people enough to sacrifice her own life to save them. Someone who had taken her first breath right here, in Denerim. Surely, the Maker's bride would spare a moment to hear a prayer for another small girl from Ferelden.

Eleanor closed her eyes, and bowed her head. _Blessed Andraste . . . _

Eleanor's eyes fluttered open. Maker's blood. She'd fallen asleep again, sitting up in the chair. In truth, she couldn't remember more than a few minutes of her prayer, and she had no idea how much time had passed.

She glanced at her daughter. It appeared as though Rhianna was still asleep . . . or was something wrong? The girl wasn't moving at all. Oh, Blessed Andraste . . . had something happened while Eleanor was sleeping? Had she stopped breathing? Eleanor leaned forward, meaning to grab one of Rhianna's hands, and feel for her pulse . . .

But then the girl's chest rose and fell again, with the rasping sound of breath.

Ah. It was fine. Everything was fine. Rhianna was still merely sleeping.

Eleanor sank back into the chair and turned her gaze to the clock on the wall. Three o'clock. Damn. Still a few hours to go before daylight. And her unintended nap hadn't even taken the edge off her exhaustion; if anything, she felt more tired than before. But she didn't dare nod off again. She couldn't take any chances . . .

A movement caught her eye, and she gasped with surprise. Someone else was in the room with her.

"I'm sorry, Eleanor," a deep voice murmured. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Loghain. Eleanor let out a relieved breath, and chuckled, chiding herself silently for being startled. Of course it was Loghain. Who else could it possibly be? He sat in a chair in the corner of the room, mostly hidden in shadow.

"Oh, Loghain. I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there. I think . . . well, I closed my eyes for just a moment, intending to pray, and I fell asleep. Which is what I thought you were going to do. Get some sleep."

"That's what I thought as well," he replied. "And I slept for a bit, two hours perhaps, before waking. I stared at the ceiling for some time, then decided to see if you wanted me to sit up with Rhianna. So when I found you asleep, I didn't bother to wake you. You looked comfortable enough."

"I haven't been this tired since . . . well, I can't remember when. Not since the Rebellion, most likely. Maybe not ever." Eleanor let out a long sigh. "At least just now I was able to sleep without dreaming. I had the worst dream earlier. Right before Rhianna woke up."

Loghain stood, and dragged his chair close beside Eleanor's. "That's hardly surprising. Bad dreams, I mean. Seeing Rhianna like this is horrible, and it must be far worse for you than it is for me."

"It is horrible. But I know you've been through your share of . . . troubles. You and Anora, both, this past year. It must have been dreadful for you when Celia died, and it wasn't all that long ago."

Loghain was silent for a moment, closing his eyes as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "No, it wasn't all that long ago." His voice was rough, and Eleanor regretted bringing up the subject. Surely, he didn't need to be reminded of his own heartache, especially not now.

She'd always wondered about Loghain's relationship with his wife, whom Eleanor had met two or three times at most. It seemed as though he spent almost all his time in Denerim, and Celia had remained always in Gwaren. Certainly, she had never accompanied him on any of his visits to Highever. Eleanor hated being apart from Bryce, even for a few weeks at a time, but it seemed as though the Mac Tirs had spent hardly any time together. But she'd never felt quite close enough to Loghain to ask about it, not about something so personal. He was a rather private, taciturn sort of man, after all. Not the sort to readily divulge intimate details of his life.

Now, however, she wished she had asked. She wished she'd made more of an effort to get to know this man who had shown himself such a good friend to Rhianna. If Eleanor understood more about him and his life, perhaps she could have said something comforting. Something more than the rote condolences she offered after she heard Celia Mac Tir had died.

But for the present, she would have to continue to wonder. This was hardly the time to ask such personal questions.

"It's a good thing, isn't it?" Eleanor asked. "That the swellings have started to burst? As Jocelyn said, it's better for the poison to drain out of her body, rather than remaining inside."

"Yes, I'm sure it's a good thing. I just wish . . ." He glanced at Eleanor, a slight frown on his lips. With a small sigh, he continued, "I just wish it wasn't so damned painful."

"Yes. Seeing her like this . . . it's killing me. I'd do anything to take away her pain, to bring it all on myself, but that's not possible, is it? If only . . ." Her voice trailed off. Oh, Maker. She didn't want to finish that thought.

Loghain cocked his head to one side. "If only what, Eleanor?"

She ran a hand across her face before answering. "If only I'd paid more attention. If only Landra hadn't been drunk _again_. If only I hadn't sent Rhianna away." Eleanor felt tears begin to form at the corners of her eyes, and she fought them back. "I knew she wanted to tell me something - I_ knew_ it - but I waved my hand at her and sent her away. If only I'd listened, she would have never gone to that terrible place on her own."

Loghain took one of her hands in his own. "This is not your fault, Eleanor."

"Isn't it? She's ill because she was locked away in that cell. In the cold. In the dark. With whatever had the fleas that bit her. The kitten, I suppose. That's how she caught the plague, isn't it?"

His fingers tightened slightly around hers. "Probably, yes. But you mustn't blame yourself. You could not have known this would happen. That someone would lure your daughter away from the house. No one could have foreseen this, Eleanor. It is not your fault."

"Then whose fault is it?" She forced herself to whisper, for fear the anger in her voice would wake her daughter. "Who did this to her, Loghain? Was it someone we know? Someone who knows Rhianna?" All the questions she'd asked herself while Rhianna was missing flooded back. "I don't understand how _that_ could be possible. How could anyone who _knows_ Rhianna want to harm her? _Rhianna_? I don't think I've ever known a sweeter child in all my life, and I'm not just saying that because I'm her mother." A flare of pain erupted in her head, and she rubbed at her temple.

"But," she continued, "it also makes no sense that a stranger would do such a thing. A kidnapper, holding her for ransom, yes. And of course there are people who take young girls for . . . other reasons. But to lock her away and leave her to die? That doesn't seem like a random act, something a stranger would do. Besides, how would someone who didn't know her have the idea to lure her away with the promise of kittens?" Eleanor let her fingers tighten around Loghain's, grateful for his warmth, for the human contact.

"It terrifies me, Loghain," she whispered. "It can't have been a stranger. It must be someone we know. But who? Who could do such a thing to her? And what if he comes after her again someday?"

"I've asked myself all those same questions, Eleanor, and I agree it must have been someone who knows her. This wasn't random." He hesitated for a moment. "You do know about the bracelet Bryce and I found in the tower?"

"Yes. Bryce intended to ask Leonas about it, see if it belongs to Habren. He told me Anora has heard rumors about Habren harming small animals?" Loghain nodded. "I'll admit I've never been particularly fond of the girl," Eleanor continued. "She's unpleasant and a bit . . . shallow. But it's difficult for me to imagine her doing something truly harmful. To animals, or to Rhianna." Eleanor rubbed at her forehead again. "Of course, children often have their own secrets they keep hidden from the adults, don't they? The fact Anora heard a rumor like this probably means there's some truth to it."

"My thought exactly."

"Even so, Habren is only ten years old. How could she have set such a deliberate trap, and how would she have even known about the guardhouse?" She sighed, knowing neither she nor Loghain had the answers to those questions. "At any rate, if it was Habren, I'm sure Bryce will get to the bottom of it. Perhaps he already has. He's spoken to Leonas; that's where he went right after the funeral we held for that kitten. And if it wasn't Habren, I know Bryce won't rest until he finds out who _did_ do it."

"Yes," Loghain agreed. "Chances are the entire mystery has been solved, and we just haven't heard the outcome yet."

"Oh, I hope that's the case. It would be such a relief to know for certain who wrote that note. So I wouldn't have to keep worrying about it once this is . . . once Rhianna is well again."

Eleanor glanced at her daughter, verifying the girl's chest was still rising and falling with breath. Despair washed over her, and she found herself unable to push it completely aside.

"I have never felt more helpless," she confessed, unwilling to look into Loghain's face, not wanting him to see the look in her eyes. "Not ever, in my entire life. Watching her suffer like this. Not being able to do anything - _anything_ - to help. Oh, Loghain, I hate it. She looks so . . . small. So fragile, as though at any moment she could just slip away from me." Again, tears welled up, and Eleanor blinked them away. "As though at any moment, she could . . . die."

Finally, she had said it out loud. The fear that haunted her since she arrived at Gwaren House and Loghain spoke the word, "plague." The disease that killed three out of four of its victims. Especially children. And Rhianna was so young, and small for her age.

Loghain squeezed Eleanor's hand again, more firmly this time. "It's going to be all right, Eleanor." He caught her gaze, and held it. "Rhianna is not going to die."

Suddenly, she could no longer hold back her tears. "How can you say that, Loghain? How do you _know_? Oh, Maker, I'm so afraid," she sobbed, as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb her daughter's rest. "I can't stop being afraid." She sobbed again, her breath catching in her chest.

Loghain tugged on her hand, pulling her up out of the chair and then down to the floor. Side by side, they sat with their backs resting against Rhianna's bed. He released her hand, and put his arm around her, and Eleanor fell against him, clinging to his shoulder as she began to cry in earnest. She buried her face against his shirt, and felt his hand on the back of her head as he stroked her hair, which for once she hadn't bothered to braid. He whispered soothing words into her ear, and allowed her to cry.

Several minutes later, the front of Loghain's shirt was damp with her tears. She sat up, placing a hand on his chest to steady herself.

"Thank you." Her voice was ragged. "I think I've needed to do that for days." She brushed her fingers against his shirt. It wasn't the same one he'd been wearing earlier; he'd changed clothes. Well, of course he'd changed clothes. He'd been covered in Rhianna's blood. "I'm sorry about this." She touched the damp spot. "I've cried all over your clean shirt."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes, well don't worry about that. I'll just send the cleaning bill to Highever House."

Eleanor laughed, a genuine laugh, the first one she'd had in days and days. For all people complained about Loghain being dour, he really wasn't. He was a lovely man, considerate and charming and funny. And he'd been so incredibly generous in helping care for Rhianna . . .

Rhianna. Her little girl, her baby, who was so horribly ill . . .

Eleanor began sobbing again. Again, Loghain pulled her close, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm so scared," she admitted. "Seeing her like this, all covered in blood and sweat, and crying from the pain. I'm so scared, Loghain. So scared she's going to die. My daughter. Oh, Maker, my beautiful daughter. I can't lose her. I _can't_. I don't know how I would be able to go on living without her."

Loghain sat up, grasping Eleanor by the shoulders. "You will go on living, Eleanor. No matter what happens." He stared into her eyes with an intensity that took her breath away. "But Rhianna is _not_ going to die. Do you hear me, Eleanor?" His fingers pressed into her flesh almost enough to cause pain. "I swear this to you. Rhianna is going to recover, and be stronger than ever before."

Eleanor clutched at one of his arms, clinging to him as though she would drown if she let go. She wanted to believe him. She was desperate to believe him, and it was clear he truly did believe what he was saying. But she was still so very scared.

"How do you know? People _die_ from the plague, Loghain, and Rhianna is so very sick." Her voice trembled, but she managed to stop crying. "How can you be so sure?"

He grasped her chin, forcing her to hold his gaze. She'd never noticed before just how blue his eyes were. How clear, how icy. "Because we are not going to let her die. You and I, Eleanor. We are going to hold on to Rhianna so tightly she won't be able to slip away. We'll go the gates of the Black City and back again, if that's what it takes to keep her here with us."

Eleanor's chest heaved as she struggled to breathe through her fears, though her anxiety. The intensity in his eyes was almost too much for her to bear, but she couldn't look away. She had known this man for years, more than twenty, but it was as if she had never really seen him before. Never seen the true strength of his will.

Of course he was strong-willed. This was the man who defeated the Orlesians at River Dane, the man who put King Maric on the throne. The man who ruled Ferelden in those years after Rowan died, when Maric was too grief-stricken to do it himself.

This was the man who pulled Rhianna out of the dungeon where someone had locked her away to die.

Eleanor had known him for years, but never before realized the reason he was able to do all these things, these amazing things, the reason he overcame all the odds, was because Loghain Mac Tir _believed_ things would go as he willed them.

She could see it in his eyes. His determination, his refusal to believe any other outcome was possible. Right now, Loghain Mac Tir believed Rhianna was going to survive this illness.

And, looking into his eyes, unable to look away from those eyes, Eleanor believed it, too.

•o•


	11. You stayed with me all those days

_**3 Harvestmere, 9:20 Dragon  
**__**Gwaren Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

Loghain rubbed at his eyes, as if doing so might drive away his exhaustion. He needed to stay awake just a few more hours, just until morning when Eleanor or Jocelyn would take over sitting with Rhianna.

Tonight had been uneventful, thankfully. The first such night of the past three, since the hellish night when Rhianna had woken, screaming, after the first of the lesions on her neck burst open. Since then, the girl had suffered continually, only resting for a few hours at a time after one of Jocelyn's treatments. Of all the horrors he had seen in his life - of which there were a great many - witnessing Rhianna Cousland's agony as the plague ravaged her body was one of the worst. Knowing there was so little that could be done for her. Seeing the look in her eyes and knowing she was in so much pain, but rarely had the strength to do more than whimper softly. Every time he left her side, which he did only to rest or force himself to eat, he feared she would be gone before he returned.

Nighttime was the worst. Not only did Rhianna seem to wake more frequently during the hours between midnight and dawn, but for some reason, during those hours Loghain felt . . . unsettled. In the darkness, it was more difficult to believe she would recover, more difficult not to succumb to his fears. Perhaps it was just more difficult to stay awake while the girl rested at night, and more jarring when she had been roused from her sleep by the pain. Still, the shadows in the corners of the room were darker, the flickering firelight somehow sinister, and when all in the house was quiet, it sometimes seemed as though there was no one else left alive in all the world. Only Loghain and Rhianna, and if she slipped away, he would be entirely alone, and he didn't know if his will was strong enough to hold her here.

He knew all these musings were the product of his imagination running away with him, from a combination of worry and exhaustion. Even so, he'd come to dread the setting of the sun.

Like now. He felt . . . restless. Anxious. It was not quite two in the morning, and Rhianna looked peaceful, one of her small hands tucked inside his own. He'd taken to holding her hand almost all the time when he sat with her, even when she slept. If he sat across the room, she seemed to sleep more fitfully, to toss and turn, to wake more often. Or perhaps that, too, was merely his imagination, and holding her hand was more a comfort to him, allowing him to feel the thread of her pulse against his fingers, reassuring him her heart was still beating.

Rhianna had been ill for a week now, and through it all, the three of them - himself, Eleanor and Jocelyn - had worked tirelessly to give the girl the care she needed. Cleaning her wounds, keeping fresh clothes on the bed, calming her when she was frightened or in pain. Thankfully, she had spent much of the past few days asleep. When she did wake, it was almost always in response to the pain; she fell back to sleep as soon as a spell or potion could be administered. Rhianna had been lucid only occasionally, and for brief moments at a time.

One such lucid moment had happened the morning after the swellings started to burst.

Eleanor was sitting with Rhianna, and Jocelyn was preparing a healing salve, so Loghain had gone downstairs to try and rest. He and Eleanor had stayed awake together throughout the remainder of the previous night, after she had given in to the tears she must have been holding back for days. In truth, comforting Eleanor had given him comfort as well, but the lack of sleep had caught up with him, and that morning he'd felt bleary and worn, almost dizzy from exhaustion.

He had just settled himself on the sofa, intending to nap, when the door at the front entry opened, then closed again. Loghain sat up, confused. Who in the world would willingly enter this house? Some burglar thinking no one was at home? Well, if that was the case, the thief would get something far different than what he'd bargained for.

But it was no burglar.

Maric Theirin walked into the sitting room, hugging a stuffed toy bear to his chest. He glanced around, and a bright smile spread across his face at the sight of Loghain. When he opened his mouth to speak, however, Loghain didn't give him the chance.

"Maric? Maker's balls, man. What in the name of the Black City are you doing here?" Loghain clutched the back of the sofa as he pulled himself to his feet. "No, never mind that. I don't care why you're here. Just get out. Now!"

Maric held up a hand in a gesture of peace. "Ho, there, Loghain. 'Come in,' you say? Why yes, don't mind if I do. And by the way, it's good to see you, too, my friend. I like the beard. It's a good look. Perhaps you should keep it. The better to scare away women and small children."

Loghain rubbed at the dark stubble on his face; he hadn't taken the time to shave since the girl had fallen ill. "This is no time to make jokes. You shouldn't be here. Rhianna Cousland is suffering from the plague."

"Of course I know Rhianna is ill," Maric replied, as though Loghain had said something very stupid. "Why else do you think I've come bringing a toy bear? It's certainly not for you, so try not to be too disappointed. Satinalia is less than a month away, though, so if you're very, very good, I might get you one of your own. Although this lack of hospitality you're showing me, trying to throw me out of your home, is not helping your chances."

Loghain loved Maric like a brother, but their relationship was often neither easy nor comfortable. Mostly because Maric could be frustratingly stupid. Like now, for example.

"Damn it, Maric. You're the king. Of Ferelden. Hopefully you haven't forgotten this little detail. You are the last person who should be here, risking infection."

"And what about you? You're at least as important to Ferelden as I am, and you're here, risking infection."

"I'm here because I had already been in close contact with the girl before anyone knew she was ill, so leaving wouldn't have done me any good."

"You don't look like you've caught the plague."

"No, I don't believe I have. But that's not the point. Please, Maric. Just leave the gift on the table. I'll see Rhianna gets it the next time she wakes. But you really need to leave. Right now."

"Loghain!" Eleanor called from the top of the stairs, "Can you come up?" There didn't seem to be any panic or urgency in her voice, but he was so tired it was possible he was no longer able to tell the difference. At any rate, she wouldn't call unless he was needed; that was the unspoken agreement between the three adults in the house, what with sleep in such short supply.

"I'll be right there!" he called back, and then turned to Maric. "You. Out." He pointed toward the front door. "Now."

But when Loghain bounded up the stairs, Maric followed close behind.

"What is it?" Loghain asked Eleanor, who was sitting on the far side of the bed. "Has another of the swellings burst?"

"Thankfully, no. Rhianna is awake, though, and she asked to see you." Then her eyes alit on the king. "Maric? What on earth are you doing here? Rhianna's very ill. Please Your Majesty, you mustn't risk getting sick." Eleanor stood and began moving toward the king, but stopped before she rounded the foot of the bed.

Maric ignored her, as well as the angry look Loghain gave him, and strode into the room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light; the window was still covered completely by drapes, so no light could intrude and hurt Rhianna's eyes.

When the king finally got a good look at the girl, he lost his composure. His jaw dropped, his cheeks went slack, and his eyes opened wide with horror. It took only a moment before he caught himself, and with a shake of his head his expression returned to something more akin to normal. But it was obvious he had been shocked at the girl's appearance.

And no wonder. Rhianna looked awful. Her face was greyish and pale, except for the dark circles that ringed her eyes, and there were open sores and blackened lesions on her neck and her torso. The bedclothes were stained with her blood, and the smell in the room was far from pleasant.

"Maker's blood," the king whispered.

Pushing away his annoyance at the king, Loghain turned from Maric and sat on the bed, carefully taking Rhianna's hand. "Your mother said you wanted to see me?"

"Yes." Her voice was barely audible, through lips that were dry and cracked. It was hard to get liquids into her, and food was out of the question. "I . . . I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Mother said you hadn't gotten sick, but I had a bad dream. I dreamt you were . . . covered in blood" She paused, taking several heavy breaths through her mouth. "And there were these creatures . . . horrible creatures who had come from under the ground. Except we weren't underground. We were at the top of a tower. A very tall tower, and there was a dragon. A huge dragon." Another pause to catch her breath. "And we had swords, and you . . . you were all bloody, and it scared me so. I just wanted to see you for myself. See that you were really all right."

"I'm fine, Rhianna." Loghain rubbed her hand gently. "It was just a bad dream. I'm not sick, I promise, and there are no monsters here. Well, apart from this one from the palace who snuck in to see you." He turned to Maric. "Since you're already here," he grumbled, "you might as well say hello."

Maric took a single, small step forward, but didn't come too close. Good. Perhaps seeing Rhianna made him question his idiotic decision to walk right into the sickroom.

When he greeted her, though, his voice didn't falter. "Hello, Rhianna. It's good to see you, my dear."

"Your . . . Your Majesty?" she asked, before taking a breath which sounded painful. "You shouldn't be here. I'm really terribly sick."

"Yes, so I've heard." Maric glanced at Loghain, with an almost apologetic expression. Then he turned back to the girl. "But I wanted to stop by and say hello, and give you a little present. Something to help you feel better." Maric started to move forward, and then stopped, his brow wrinkled slightly. Eleanor came forward to take the bear from his hands.

"Allow me, Your Majesty." There was a hint of reproach in her voice. The teyrna crossed to the opposite side of the bed, and held out the toy to her daughter.

"It's a bear," Maric explained, rather unnecessarily.

"Yes." Rhianna's shoulders hitched once, and she turned her head to cough into the pillow. "I can see that." She didn't reach for the toy, though. She kept her hands and arms where they were, splayed out awkwardly on the bed, keeping pressure away from the lesions under her arms.

"Go ahead, Rhianna. Take it. It's for you," Maric urged. "I thought you might like to have something to cuddle while you're spending so much time in bed."

She shook her head. "He's lovely, Your Majesty. And I'm very grateful. But . . ." She closed her eyes and took two ragged breaths before continuing, "but sometimes these sores on my neck? Sometimes they bleed an awfully lot. And it smells very bad. I don't want the bear to get dirty. He's quite handsome, and he'll be ruined if I try and hold him."

"How about this?" Eleanor suggested, moving to the side of the room opposite the window, and setting the bear up on the vanity. "If I put him here, you can look at him whenever you like, darling. And then, once those sores have healed, you can have him to cuddle."

"Yes, Mummy," the girl whispered, smiling faintly. "That's a very good idea." Her eyes began to droop, but she forced them open. "Thank you again, King Maric. I really love the bear. I think I'll call him Ser . . . Ruffalo."

"Ser Ruffalo?" Maric asked. "Where did that name come from?"

Rhianna coughed again. "I don't know. But it's a good name, don't you think?"

"I think it's a very good name," the king agreed.

Loghain squeezed her hand gently. "And I think you ought to go back to sleep now, love."

She nodded, and her eyelids started to droop again, but then she struggled to open them once more. "Thank you for coming to see me, King Maric, and thank you for sending your healer to help me. Now please go back to the palace, so you don't get sick. I'm already so worried about my mother, and Teyrn Loghain, and the healer. I don't want to have to worry about you, as well."

Maric had the good grace to look embarrassed. "You're welcome, Rhianna. And I hope you know that everyone in the whole city - all of us at the palace, and your family, and all your friends - we're all thinking only the best thoughts for you to recover very, very soon. Once you're feeling better, will you promise to come and have supper with me at the palace? Will you do that?"

"All right. I promise." Then she shifted her gaze to Loghain. "And you must promise not to go near any monsters, all right? Or dragons."

"Well, that rather ruins my plans for the rest of the afternoon," he winked at her, "but if you insist, I promise."

Rhianna made a sound that was probably intended to be a giggle, and then let her eyes close as she fell back asleep. Loghain leaned over to kiss her forehead, and then turned to Maric.

"Now, can I convince you to leave? Please."

Maric nodded, and turned to go back downstairs, with Eleanor and Loghain following behind. Instead of going to the front door, however, Maric went into the sitting room, and sank down into a chair, putting his face in his hands for a moment before meeting the stares of the man and woman looking down at him.

"Maker. That was . . ." His voice trailed off as he let out a shuddering breath. "I had no idea how bad it would be. There are other cases now, you know? In the city. A Nevarran merchant, and there have been a number of deaths in the Alienage. One of the Chantry's lay brothers died just yesterday, and even one of Rendon Howe's servants fell ill. It doesn't look as though that lad will survive either. But I hadn't seen any of them, and I honestly had no idea . . . I've never seen anything like this. Rowan certainly never looked that sick, not even at the very end." Loghain felt Eleanor stiffen beside him, and he reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

"It's true," Loghain began, looking not at Maric, but at Eleanor, "Rhianna does look very ill. But she's going to be fine." On the final word, he gave the teyrna's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

She looked back at him with gratitude in her eyes, putting her hand briefly on top of his own. Then she turned toward the king. "Thank you, Maric, for coming to visit my daughter. Although really, you should not have come."

"I know." Maric sounded rather defeated, staring down at the floor as he spoke. "I understand that now. But . . . well, I spoke with Bryce, and with Anora, and I just wanted . . . well, I wanted to see how she was doing. We hadn't had any word about her for days, you know." He looked up at Eleanor. "I meant what I said in there. About everyone wishing her the best. Rhianna is precious to a great many people. I'm not sure even I was aware just how fond I am of the girl, until I saw her . . . like that." He turned to Loghain. "She really is going to get better? Yes? Please tell me she's going to get better."

Loghain did not hesitate with his answer. "Yes. She really is going to get better."

•o•

Now, Rhianna's eyes were closed, and she appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Perhaps it was just his imagination or wishful thinking, but it seemed she was breathing more easily, in a steadier rhythm, no longer struggling for each breath. He leaned back in the chair he had pulled as close as possible to the bed, and closed his eyes, listening for any sign she might be stirring, aware of her pulse beating against his fingers.

At least today, for the first time since she'd collapsed in the garden, they had good reason to be optimistic. The last of the swellings had burst overnight, and no new ones had formed. With any luck, this meant the disease was running its course. Jocelyn had told them the mere fact Rhianna survived long enough for the lesions to begin bursting was a good sign; most people who died did so before the disease ever progressed that far. But he could see in the healer's eyes she was not yet ready to declare that all danger had passed. Rhianna was still running a fever, and her cough had, if anything, worsened over the past few days.

Even so, Loghain believed what he had told Eleanor: Rhianna would survive this illness. He wanted to believe it; he needed to believe it, as if believing it hard enough would make it so. No other outcome was possible. Not this time. Not this child. Not this precious child who was loved by so many.

Not that being loved gave her any real protection. He knew better than most the truth of that. He'd loved people, and that hadn't stopped any of them from being taken away. He'd loved his infant daughter desperately, and that hadn't saved her. And seeing Rhianna so ill . . .

The thought of any child dying so young was horrific, but over the past few days he'd come to realize that Rhianna Cousland was not just "any child" to him. He cared about the girl, truly cared about her. It was clear from the intensity of his panic when she'd gone missing, from the feeling of emptiness and dread inside of him at the thought he might never see her again. From his relief at finding her in that guard tower. And from the emptiness and dread that returned when she fell ill. Somehow, she had become precious to him in a way few children ever had. Only his own daughters, and Calian.

It wasn't difficult to understand why. Rhianna was funny and charming and sweet and smart, and somehow, without him noticing, she had wormed her way into his heart. And now he couldn't bear the thought that he might never again enjoy her conversation, or see the mischievous smile that crept across her face, or hear her laughter carry across a room. The thought that she might never drag him along on one of her little adventures, that she might never again tell him he was "silly," something no one else had ever dared to do.

When Deirdre died, a piece of his heart had been torn away, and even though the ache had eased over time, the hole was still there, empty and raw, as he knew it always would be. Even though his only memory of her was as a scrawny little bundle in his arms, he had loved her. While she was growing inside Celia, he had loved her, and after she had been born, for those few short hours of her life, he had loved her. And after she was gone, he had mourned not only the baby he held, but also his vision of the girl she would have been. A girl with her own funny smile and infectious laughter. A girl who might have liked animals, or books, or planting flowers, or horses, or wearing fancy dresses, or playing in the dirt. Or all of those things. A girl who might have had blue eyes and dark hair like her father. It still hurt so much to think of her, the little girl he'd never had the chance to get to know.

And the thought he might now lose Rhianna, a little girl whom he knew so very well . . . he didn't know if he could survive having another piece of his heart torn away, having another empty place that would never stop aching.

But of course, if the worst happened, he would survive. Just as he'd survived everything else that had ever happened to him. As would Eleanor, and Bryce, and everyone else who cared about the girl. Because the sad truth is that losing a loved one doesn't kill those left behind. It only damages us, no matter how much we wished we could die, too. Perhaps there was a point where it became too much. When the grief became too intense, and the loss of one more person became too much to bear. But if that was so, Loghain wasn't interested in experiencing it first-hand.

Three nights ago, when Eleanor had cried on his shoulder, it occurred to him she didn't know about Deirdre. Eleanor had mentioned Celia's death, but had no idea that Loghain had lost a daughter as well. He'd very nearly told her right then, confided in her this secret hardly anyone else knew.

Maker knows he'd wanted to tell her. He'd wanted to let it out, to talk about it. To be able to look into someone else's eyes and know she understood that this thing had happened, this terrible thing. To know he didn't have to bear the entirety of it alone, at least for a few minutes. It had been years since he'd done that, since the nights when he and Maric had gotten drunk and maudlin and cried to one another in the small hours about Rowan and about the baby. And he'd never really spoken of it to anyone else. He'd meant to talk to Anora, but the opportunity never came up. Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he'd never created the opportunity. Now, he wasn't sure how much Anora remembered of that dark time, of her tiny sister who'd been alive less than a day. If she'd been spared those memories, Loghain certainly didn't want to do anything that would bring them back into her mind.

Sometimes, it felt as though having this secret bottled up inside would strangle him. And of all the people he knew, Eleanor Cousland was one of the few he could imagine telling. One of the few he trusted to be _kind_. To give comfort, genuine comfort, without judgment or pity. Perhaps more importantly, he trusted her never to repeat it as gossip, never to use it against him. He expected she would tell Bryce, but he, too, could be trusted. With the secret Loghain hated having to keep.

But he'd had to keep it, for a while longer, at least. He could not have told Eleanor that night, not under those circumstances. How could he have spoken of his daughter who had died, when Eleanor's own daughter was barely clinging to her life? Instead, he had held Eleanor while she cried, while she let out her fear and her anxiety and her sorrow, and tried to let his own anguish drain away alongside hers. Instead of confiding in her as he wished he could do, he had prayed to Andraste that this brave, magnificent woman would never know the pain he, himself had known.

_Please, Andraste_, _please don't take this woman's daughter from her. Don't let Rhianna Cousland die. Please. I'll do anything, anything at all, if you'll just let this child live. Don't take her from her family. Don't take her from the people who love her._

Admittedly, his prayer had been as much for his own sake as for Eleanor's. But with any luck, Andraste wouldn't dismiss it on that score. His mother, his father, Rowan, Deirdre, Celia . . . an entire litany of people he had loved and lost. A litany of people whose lives he had not been able to save. Loghain did not want to add Rhianna's name to that list.

_Please, Andraste. The thought of living in this world without her in it is unbearable. Let her stay with us. Please._

"Teyrn Loghain?" Rhianna's voice was the barest whisper. Loghain sat up, not sure at first if he had imagined it.

But the girl's eyes were open, halfway at least, and she appeared to be staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm here, Rhianna," he answered, wrapping his fingers just a bit more tightly around her hand. Her gaze drifted slowly until she found him with her eyes. The briefest of smiles played across her lips as her eyes opened wider, and her brow furrowed as she struggled to focus on his face.

"Teyrn Loghain," she breathed. "Where . . . where are we?" This was the first time in days she had awoken without crying from the pain.

"We're in the Gwaren estate, in Denerim."

"Oh." She sounded confused, but her eyes were focused on his, and her breathing was easier than it had been since she fell ill. "Why am I here?"

"You've been ill, love." He reached up to feel her forehead. It was blessedly cool; it appeared as though her fever had finally broken.

Thank the Maker.

"What is the last thing you remember?" he asked.

"I . . . I remember we were in the garden. After the funeral for the kitten." She shifted position, as though she wanted to lower her arms to her sides, but the movement made her wince, and she lay still again. "You asked me about animals, and said we could go to Fort Drakon, but I don't know what happened after that. Did we go to Fort Drakon?"

She sounded tired, but the effort of talking didn't seem to exhaust her as it had over the past few days, and she wasn't fighting for breath.

He took a deep breath, and released it, slowly. The worst was over. It had to be. The fact that she was awake, that the pain was bearable, that she was no longer burning up with fever, surely this meant the worst was over.

"No, we didn't go to Fort Drakon. Not yet, but we will, I promise. You've been here in my house all this time, since that day in the garden."

He picked up a goblet from the table, and held it to her lips. Gingerly, she took a few sips of water before asking, "All this time? How much time?"

"Seven days."

Her eyes widened slightly. "That's a lot of days. And you stayed with me all those days."

It was a statement, rather than a question, but he responded as if she'd been asking. "Yes. Your mother and I and the king's healer have been here all along."

"What was I sick from? Seven days is a long time to be sick."

"You've had . . . the plague, Rhianna. I think you caught it from the fleas that bit you."

"The plague? But doesn't that mean I'm going to die? The plague always kills people." Urgency crept into her voice. "And what if you catch it from me? Or if Mother does?"

He rubbed the top of her hand, making gentle circles with his thumb. "You're not going to die, Rhianna. Not from the plague," he reassured. "The plague does kill some people, but not everyone. And you're going to recover. No one else in this house is sick, either, so you don't have to worry about your mother or about me."

"But how do you know? How do you know we're not going to die?"

"Because your mother and I are both feeling just fine. A bit tired perhaps, but not sick at all. If we were going to fall ill, I expect it would have happened by now. And I'm sure you're going to get better because your fever has broken, and because of the way you're talking to me right now. I know you don't feel well, and that must be scary. But you were much, much sicker a few days ago. So don't be scared, love. You're going to be just fine. I promise."

She looked directly into his eyes. "I believe you. You always tell the truth, don't you? And I know I'll always be safe if I'm with you."

Once again, he was almost overwhelmed by the trust she placed in him, by the sincerity in her gaze. By the way it made him feel, like his heart would burst from it.

The truth? Did he always tell the truth? No more and no less than most other people, he supposed. But perhaps that wasn't good enough. Not now. She trusted him. And that, as much as anything, made him determined to be worthy of that trust. And maybe, just maybe, her trust wasn't completely misplaced. After all, he had found her when she was locked in the tower, and had done his best by her during this illness.

"I'll always tell you the truth, Rhianna," he promised. "And," he added, "I'll do whatever it takes to help keep you safe."

She smiled up at him. "I know you will." She yawned, but rather than covering her hand with her mouth, she merely turned her face to stifle the yawn in the pillow. She moaned slightly from the effort of turning her neck, and then returned her gaze to his face. "I'm so tired, Teyrn Loghain."

"I know. You still need to rest, probably for at least a few more days. But I think you're going to be feeling much better very soon. And in the meantime you can sleep as much as you like. Does anything hurt?"

"Not really. Not much, anyway. My head aches a bit, and it feels like I have sores under my arms and on my neck. They hurt when I tried to move. But it's not too bad."

"Do you want me to call for the healer? She has spells that will help with the pain."

"Isn't she sleeping? It's so dark in here, it must be the middle of the night."

"She's asleep, but she won't mind being woken."

"No, that's all right. I don't need the healer. It only hurts a little bit. Mostly, I'm just tired. So tired."

"Then why don't you go back to sleep. I'll stay nearby, and I'll be here when you wake up in the morning."

"I do want to sleep. But . . . my mother. She is here, isn't she? I thought . . . I remember hearing her voice."

"Of course your mother is here. She's in the room next door, sleeping. Do you want me to get her?"

"No, not yet. I . . . I don't want to wake her up either. If I've been sick, I expect she's been worried about me, and needs her sleep." Rhianna studied Loghain's face, her eyes narrowing slightly. "So do you. Need your sleep, I mean. You look tired, and your face is all stubbly." She reached one hand up slowly, and brushed at his cheek with her fingers. "I've never seen you with a beard before. I don't like it. It hides your face, and you have such a good face."

She yawned again, but instead of closing her eyes, she asked, "Will you . . . will you tell me a story?" She blinked up at him, her eyelids already beginning to droop; he doubted she would make it though more than three minutes of listening to his voice. Even so, he was more than happy to oblige.

"What sort of a story would you like? Monsters and sword fighting?"

"No, no monsters this time. There were too many of those in my dreams. Will you tell me a story about . . . " She bit her lower lip for a moment. "About the Dalish?"

"The Dalish? What put them into your head?"

"I don't know. I guess I was thinking about the plague. Can elves catch the plague, too?"

"Yes, elves can catch the plague. There's been an outbreak recently in the Alienage."

"What about the Dalish, who don't live in the city?"

"Well, I don't know for certain, but I assume they could."

"That's too bad. The plague isn't a very nice disease, is it?"

That was putting it mildly. "No, Rhianna, it isn't. Do you still want a story about the Dalish?"

"Yes, please."

"All right." He took a deep breath. "As you know, the Dalish are elves who don't live in cities, but live in nomadic clans, following the hunting and good weather wherever it takes them."

"Do you actually know any Dalish? I don't think I've ever met one before," she murmured, her eyes almost completely closed now.

"Yes, I've met Dalish elves. Not many, but a few. I remember the first time I met any of the Elvhen - for that's what they call themselves. It was during the Occupation, when Maric and I were in the Korcari Wilds."

"You've actually been inside the Wilds? Was it scary?"

"It _was_ scary," he said truthfully. "This was long before Maric was the king. In fact, I'd only known him for a few days; he and I weren't even friends yet."

"I can't imagine that," she whispered. "The two of you not being friends. You're such good friends."

Loghain smiled. She had no idea just how sorely his friendship with Maric had been tested, time and time again. Even so, she wasn't wrong. It was difficult to imagine the two men being anything other than friends now.

"We were trying to escape the people who had killed Queen Moira, and the Wilds were the only place we could go where we felt certain they would not follow. But the Wilds themselves were hardly a safe place for us. We were in danger of becoming hopelessly lost due to the mist that hung in the air and clung to the ground, and touched everything with a dampness that made it difficult to keep a fire lit.

"There were venomous snakes and wolves that stalked us, and Maker knows what other sorts of dangerous creatures. Come to think of it, you would have been a great help on that journey Rhianna, if you could have convinced the wolves to leave us alone. But the Wilds are a dreadful place, and I honestly hope you never have cause to go there.

"We'd been in the Wilds for four days, when I realized we were being followed. By something other than the wolves, I mean. When we looked around, to try and see what - or who - it was, believe it or not, Maric was the first to see them. Eyes, looking out at us from between the trees. Elven eyes. A moment later, we were attacked, and Maric and I were both hit by arrows. We tried to run, but there were too many of them, and they knew the woods as Maric and I did not . . ."

Rhianna's eyes fluttered shut and her head lolled to one side. She was so calm and quiet . . . almost too calm . . . Maker, had she stopped breathing?

No. Her chest was rising and falling with each breath.

She was fine. She'd merely fallen asleep, just as he'd expected.

He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing relief to wash over him. Well, she'd have to hear the tale of how Loghain and Maric met the Dalish on another day. How the elves had taken the men to the Witch of the Wilds. Just as well. Why he chose that particular story was a bit of a mystery. True, there had been very little sword fighting, but the old hag had been reasonably monstrous. Perhaps the sad fact is that Loghain didn't know any stories that didn't feature monsters.

What exactly would he have told Rhianna, anyway? That the Witch of the Wilds was exactly as mad and horrible as you would expect? That Loghain had been hauled into the air and nearly strangled to death by a tree that had been animated by magic? That the woman had extracted some promise from Maric, the details of which Loghain had never been able to learn? And that most of the time, _Asha'bellanar_, as she was known to the Dalish, appeared nothing more than a harmless old woman?

"_Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last._"

Bah. That damned so-called prophecy. Just words. Nothing more. Empty words with no truth in them at all. Like Rhianna said, Loghain and Maric were friends now, and had been for more than half their lives. And if things had happened in the past, well, that was all behind them.

Blasted old woman with her apples and her magical trees and her decrepit hut and her cackling laughter.

No. That was a night not worth dwelling upon in his memory. And Rhianna was asleep, so he was saved from having to finish the story. With any luck the girl would forget all about having asked, and he'd never be required to tell her the rest of it.

Loghain looked down at the sleeping child. Yes, her chest still rose and fell with her breath, and her expression was more peaceful than it had appeared in days. Maker be praised, this illness was finally running its course.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. Her fingers tightened around his for a moment, and when he sat up straight again, she was smiling, although her eyes remained closed.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for staying with me."

"You're welcome, Rhianna. And I'll be here as long as you need me to be."

"It hurt. I do remember that. It hurt an awfully lot."

He felt a tightness in his chest. With any luck those memories would soon fade. "I know it did, love." He brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. "But you're going to feel better very soon. I promise."

"I believe you." Her breathing evened out into the slow rhythm of sleep.

After watching for a moment to make certain she wouldn't awaken again, he slipped his hand out of her grasp. Regardless of what Rhianna had said, he intended to wake her mother. Eleanor needed to know the worst was over, and her daughter was going to recover.

_Thank you, Andraste_. _Thank you_.

_Thank you._

•o•


	12. Is this really all for me?

_**24 Harvestmere, 9:20 Dragon  
**__**Highever Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

"Good afternoon, Teyrn Loghain," the Couslands' footman said with a bow, and a generous sweep of his arm. "Please come in. I know the family will be happy to see you, as always." Loghain had received an equally warm reception on all his recent visits; he suspected Eleanor had been rather effusive in her praise of the teyrn's assistance while Rhianna was ill.

"Thank you, Hobbes." Loghain stepped across the threshold, carrying a rather large package in his hands, a sealed letter tucked into his pocket.

"I expect it's Lady Rhianna you wish to see?" Hobbes asked. "Or perhaps the teyrn or the teyrna?"

"Lady Rhianna, if she's up to having a visitor."

"Of course, ser. Earlier in the day, she made a point of telling me she was expecting a visit from you." Hobbes gestured for Loghain to follow him up the stairs, even though Loghain knew the way; he'd climbed these stairs every day for the past three weeks. "I believe Teyrna Eleanor is with her, at the moment," Hobbes added.

After the night Rhianna's fever had broken, the girl's recovery had progressed smoothly. No new lesions had formed, and a day later, Jocelyn had been willing to heal all the sores that remained on the girl's body. Remarkably, Rhianna had only a few very faint scars as a reminder of this ordeal. A few days after that, the healer deemed Rhianna well enough to be moved back to the Highever estate.

As good as it was to have Anora back at home, it had taken Loghain a few days to adjust to Rhianna and Eleanor being gone. He found himself continually peering into the room Rhianna had used, expecting to see her there. And, even though he knew that Rhianna was going to be fine, that the worst of the illness had passed, he sometimes woke in the night, gripped by a fear that something had happened to her. Once or twice, he'd even climbed out of bed and made it halfway down the hall before remembering she was no longer here, but tucked away in her own bed across town.

So, to ease his own anxiety, he'd visited Rhianna every day since she had returned home. He was fairly certain she enjoyed these visits at least as much as he did. And he hadn't forgotten the promise he made to her the day she fell ill, a promise he had yet to fulfill. With any luck, he'd make good on that promise this very day.

It had required a bit of planning on his part; on his first visit to Highever House, he had asked Eleanor for a small favor. "I know this might sound strange, but I wonder if it would be possible for me to borrow one of Rhianna's gowns. Something that fits her well, or is perhaps just a bit big on her now."

"One of her gowns?" Eleanor had lifted a brow at him. "May I ask why?"

"Of course. And I'll be happy to tell you, so long as you promise to keep it a secret . . . "

Now, at the top of the stairs, Hobbes bowed once again, and allowed Loghain to make his own way to Rhianna's room. After setting the package down in the hallway, hidden from view, Loghain stepped into the doorway, blinking for a moment at the bright sunlight that streamed in through the open windows. Such a change from the dimly-lit sickroom just a few weeks before. Eleanor was at Rhianna's bedside, reading to the girl from a book.

When Rhianna noticed him standing there, she greeted him with an exuberant smile. "Teyrn Loghain! Hello!" Her skin was still pale, but the dark circles under her eyes were almost entirely gone. She looked only a bit tired, not ill in any way. Certainly not like a girl who'd been close to death a few weeks before. "Mother's just been reading me a story about the Rebellion."

"Indeed?" He peered at the girl with a raised brow. "That's a bit . . . disappointing. That you still need the book, I mean. I would have expected you to have all those stories by heart."

She giggled. "Well, of course I know the story by heart, silly. But sometimes it's nice to hear someone else tell it. Besides, it gives Mother something to do, since she insists I stay in bed, and she also insists on keeping me company." After a glance at her mother, her eyes met Loghain's, and she grinned. A broad, mischievous, cheeky grin. The grin Loghain feared he might never see again.

"Fair enough," he replied. "I suppose it is pleasant to hear stories sometimes, even when you know what's going to happen. Which story is it?"

"The Battle of West Hill," the girl replied.

"Yes," Eleanor added, her tone light. "A charming tale of betrayal and bloodshed for my little girl. I tried to read her a story about fairies who live happily in the woods, or unicorns, or merfolk. But she insisted on this one instead."

"Happy fairy stories are boring," the girl complained. "And I don't believe in merfolk. How could there be people who are half fish and live under the water? That doesn't make any sense at all. And besides, this isn't just a story, it's historical. I thought you'd appreciate that, Mother, since I've missed out on so much time with my tutor because of being sick. I thought perhaps if I learn all the stories, you and Father will decide I don't need a tutor at all anymore."

"Ah yes," Eleanor began, "and if that happened, you'd spend your days doing what? Playing outdoors in the woods, and stealing food from the kitchens to feed all your animal friends? Even more than you do already? That is not likely to happen anytime soon, darling," Eleanor replied placidly. "Historical stories or not. Especially since you seem to focus on a rather small period in history. You know, things happened in Ferelden, and the rest of Thedas, before the Rebellion."

"Perhaps," Rhianna began. "But not anything interesting." She giggled again.

"The girl has got a point," Loghain ventured. "It's difficult for me to believe anything could have been quite as interesting as the Rebellion."

"I'll thank you to keep that opinion to yourself, ser, before my daughter decides to give up on history entirely." Eleanor gave Loghain a stern look, but couldn't quite keep the amusement from playing across her lips.

Loghain raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Of course, Your Grace. The last thing I would want is to discourage Rhianna from getting a proper education." To Rhianna he added, "I'm sure a great many interesting things happened before the Rebellion. King Calenhad, for example. That's an exciting story, and he's an ancestor of yours. I would have thought you'd enjoy learning about him."

"Oh, I know all about King Calenhad. And Sarim Cousland. And the founding of the Chantry. And everything else."

"Everything?" Eleanor asked, wide-eyed. "That's an impressive claim for an eight-year-old to make. All right, then. Answer this: in what year did Hafter found the city of Alamar? And where, and why?"

Rhianna wrinkled her nose. "Um . . . Hafter? Well, he was the son of Dane. Or . . . maybe he was Dane's father? I'm not too sure . . . but I do know Alamar is on that island . . . the one south of Brandel's Reach. I don't know exactly when it was founded, but it had to be before Calenhad united the Almarri tribes, which means it was more than four hundred years ago. And I suppose he founded the city because he needed a place to sleep. Isn't that always why people make cities?" Rhianna smiled at her mother, a toothy, hopeful smile, as though she knew she'd not answered correctly, but thought there was a chance if she smiled charmingly enough, her mother would fail to notice.

Charming though the smile may have been, Eleanor was not fooled. "Yes, well, that's what I thought." The woman leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Your knowledge of history leaves something to be desired, my darling girl. Hafter is one of the most important figures in the history of Ferelden. 'He was the son of Dane, or maybe Dane's father?' You're not even clear on that point?"

"Well, at least she knew the city is on an island," Loghain offered.

Eleanor turned her gaze upon Loghain "Oh yes, that was the crucial bit, wasn't it?" she quipped. Perhaps he should have remained quiet. "I don't suppose you'd care to tell us the year the city was founded?"

Loghain felt his brow furrow. The year the city was founded? He had no idea when Alamar had been founded. Maker's balls.

Clearly, his expression revealed this lack of knowledge. "No?" Eleanor gave an exaggerated sigh. "Well, for future reference, Hafter was neither the son nor the father of Dane. Dane was Hafter's foster father; it is said that Hafter's true father was a werewolf. And Hafter founded Alamar in 1:37 Divine, as a place where he and the people who followed him could be safe from darkspawn that had come to the surface in the rest of Ferelden." Eleanor smiled at Rhianna. "So, I trust there will be no more talk of sending away your tutor?"

"No, Mother." She sounded contrite, but Loghain guessed she wasn't genuinely embarrassed by her inability to place the founding of Alamar in its historical context.

"Good."

Rhianna's eyes met Loghain's, and he shrugged as if to say, "Sorry, I tried!"

She rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together in an effort not to laugh. No, she definitely wasn't embarrassed. She was in good spirits today, as she had been on each of the visits Loghain had made.

As strange as it sounded, perhaps the plague had been something of a blessing. Loghain had worried about the long-term effect being locked in the guard tower might have on the girl. That it might have traumatized her, damaged her in some way, made her timid or fearful. But then she'd fallen ill, and it seemed as though everyone was so focused on how fortunate she had been to survive the plague, what happened in the guard tower had been pushed aside, and received little attention.

Of course the ordeal in the tower had not been forgotten - not by Rhianna, nor by anyone else - but if its importance had been eclipsed by the plague, and this helped the girl to recover, helped her to minimize the effect of that particular horrible day, it could only be a good thing. Far better to focus on the illness - something random that happened on its own - rather than an act willfully done to her by another person intent on causing her harm.

Especially since the identity of her attacker was still a mystery. On Loghain's first visit to the Highever estate after Rhianna had returned home, he had learned the outcome of Bryce's investigation. The other teyrn had asked to speak with him, "about the discussion I had with Leonas Bryland."

Once they were settled on the sofa in the upstairs library, each with a glass of whiskey in hand, Loghain asked. "So what was the outcome of that conversation?"

"Well, as you suspected, the bracelet does indeed belong to Habren Bryland." Bryce's frown made it clear this was not the end of the matter.

"But . . ." Loghain prompted.

Bryce let out a long breath. "But the girl claims it was stolen. That the last time she'd worn it was on one of the days we were in negotiations with the empress, and it disappeared. She thought it had just fallen off and she'd lost it somewhere in the palace. But when she was told what happened in the guard tower, Habren accused Rhianna of stealing it, and then dropping it in the tower for the sole purpose of getting Habren into trouble. It was quite a scene, really. Habren yelling and crying, Leonas clearly at a loss as to how to calm the girl. And all the while, I was trying to get to the bottom of what happened, and find out how the girl's bracelet had ended up in that damned tower.

"When Leonas asked her if she knew anything about an injured kitten, she denied it immediately, quite vehemently. Nor had she ever been to any guard tower, nor written any note. She started screaming again, saying Rhianna was trying to blame this on her out of spite, even when we told her Rhianna hadn't even known about the bracelet, and had never mentioned Habren's name at all. The girl didn't listen, though, and went on at length about how Rhianna had always been jealous, because Habren is prettier and has friends, which Rhianna doesn't."

Loghain's jaw dropped. "She said those things?"

"Oh yes. That and more. It was quite dramatic. Habren Bryland is not a girl to hold in her feelings." Bryce ran a hand across his face. "And I fear a fair bit of her anger will be directed at Rhianna in the future. Habren seemed quite offended about the accusation being made in the first place. Although she was extremely happy to have her bracelet back again. To be honest, I lost what little respect I had for the girl that day. She's quite . . . unpleasant."

Loghain snorted. "And delusional. Those are the most ridiculous things I've ever heard. Rhianna jealous of Habren?" Habren wasn't a bad-looking child, and might even be pretty if it weren't for her personality, but in any comparison with Rhianna Cousland, Habren would always be found wanting. "And we're supposed to believe Rhianna is the one who stole the bracelet, and then dropped it in the tower? When, exactly? Before or after she locked herself in the cell?"

"I know." Bryce took a sip from his glass. "It's utterly ridiculous. There are, however, other reasons to believe Habren is not the guilty party. The parchment on the girl's desk - and on her father's, as well - doesn't match the note. But the thing that decided it for me is that Leonas' sister, Harriet, swears Habren was with her all day. The day Rhianna disappeared. And while Harriet dotes on her niece to a somewhat unhealthy degree, I don't think she would lie about this. Harriet was overwrought about what happened to Rhianna. The woman has her faults, but she has a good heart, and I do believe she's telling the truth."

"Perhaps Lady Harriet believes it's the truth, and didn't realize Habren snuck away unnoticed at some point during the day?" Loghain suggested.

Bryce shrugged. "Possible, but unlikely. No, as 'horrid' at Habren Bryland is - to use Rhianna's word for the girl - I am convinced she had nothing to do with locking Rhianna in that tower."

"But if Habren wasn't responsible, then who was? Someone put that bracelet in the guard tower. Someone who was at the palace the day Habren lost it, and planted it to deflect blame from himself, no doubt." Loghain leaned forward. "You know what's been bothering me? How could the person who did this have known Rhianna wouldn't enlist someone else's help? It's not as though the girl is in the habit of wandering Denerim unaccompanied. And she did try to tell Eleanor about the kittens. If Landra hadn't been drunk, Rhianna would never have gone to the tower alone, and rather a lot of effort to trap the girl would have been for naught."

"I suppose he took a gamble there would be enough activity after the empress departed, that Rhianna would be left on her own most of the day. And it's not as though Landra being drunk is an unusual situation."

"Which means," Loghain concluded, "this must have been done by someone we know. Someone who has spent enough time around these children to know they aren't good friends, and knows Rhianna would do whatever was necessary to save a litter of motherless kittens. Someone who knows all of us well enough to guess what would have been happening at Highever House that morning, and chose his - or her - time wisely."

"Yes. But who?" Bryce stood, and walked over to the fireplace, staring into the flames. "I can't think of anyone who would do something like this. I might have believed it was a stranger if it were just a matter of Rhianna being followed and locked away, but with someone trying to frame Habren Bryland by dropping her bracelet? That is definitely not random.

"But I can't for the life of me imagine a motive for someone - for anyone - to do something like this. If they'd asked for ransom, even if someone had taken her and . . . done things to her," Bryce's eyes met Loghain's for a brief moment. "Even that, while the thought of it turns my stomach, would have been a motive. But to lock her up in the dark and leave her to die? Who could possibly benefit, or receive any satisfaction at all, from such an act? To be honest, I suppose I wanted it to be Habren. The thought this was merely a childish prank gone too far is much less . . . unsettling than acknowledging it was a calculated effort on the part of an adult. Someone we know."

"And what about the button?" Loghain asked. "I suppose that went nowhere, as well?"

"Nothing. Nothing belonging to Habren matched the pattern. Leonas even went so far as to check his own clothes, and Harriet's as well. And after eliminating Habren as a suspect, I went to every shop in the Market Square that sells clothing, and no one there could remember seeing - or selling - anything like it. For now, it appears to be a dead end.

"I'm starting to fear we may never find out who did this. Which is rather difficult. Eleanor is afraid he might try again, and I can't say I don't have the same worry myself. But for now, all we can do is make certain Rhianna is kept safe, and close to home. At least while we're here in the city. This shouldn't be too difficult to manage; I get the feeling she has no desire to go anywhere by herself, and probably won't for some time to come."

So, for now, the mystery remained unsolved. Fortunately, Rhianna seemed not to be dwelling on what had happened. During Loghain's visits, she'd asked him for stories, and they'd talked about a variety of things, but never what happened that day at the guard tower, and only rarely about the illness from which she was recovering.

Now, he stood near the foot of the bed, looking down at her. She really did look much better. "So, how are you feeling today?"

It wasn't an idle question; he had an activity in mind to suggest, and hoped she would be feeling up to it.

"Nearly as good as new. Father took me for a walk around the garden this morning, and I didn't feel tired at all afterwards. Even so, Mother says I'm to stay in bed the rest of the day."

"Is that so? The rest of the day?" He glanced at Eleanor. The teyrna gave him a faint smile and a shake of her head as if to indicate this particular rule could be broken.

Even so, Loghain sighed loudly. "That's a pity. I had thought perhaps we could . . . well, never mind. If you can't get out of bed, there's no point in even mentioning it, is there? And I certainly don't want my visit to tire you out. So perhaps I should leave for today, and come back some other time." He turned and moved toward the door.

"What? No!" Rhianna protested. "You can't leave, Teyrn Loghain. You've only just gotten here! And what was it you wanted to do? You've got to tell me, now I know you were thinking of something!"

He turned back to her, and winked, so she'd know he had no intention of leaving. "All right. I suppose I can stay a while longer. But it's just that I brought something for you, and I had thought you might want to try it out, which would involve getting out of bed. But only if you're not too tired, and only if your mother says it's all right." Again, Eleanor nodded. She could probably guess what he had in mind.

"You brought something? Do you mean a present?" Rhianna blinked in surprise. "For me?"

"You do like presents, I hope."

"Oh yes. I'm quite fond of presents. And I treat them nicely. Look, here's Ser Ruffalo. He sleeps with me every night." Sure enough, the bear she had been given by Maric was propped up next to her on the pillow.

"Well, all right. Let's see what you think of this." He stepped outside the room to retrieve the package he'd left in the hallway, and set it down on the bed beside Rhianna. "Ah, and before I forget," he added, reaching into his pocket, "I have one other thing to give you. King Maric asked me to deliver this."

Loghain handed her an envelope that contained a single folded sheet of parchment. Rhianna pulled it out, and read it aloud:

_His Royal Majesty, King Maric Theirin, requests the pleasure of Lady Rhianna Cousland's company at dinner on 2 Firstfall, 9:20 Dragon, at seven o'clock in the evening at the Royal Palace, Denerim._

_The favor of a reply is requested._

With a slightly confused look on her face Rhianna handed the parchment to her mother.

"Darling, that's wonderful," Eleanor beamed. "Being invited to dine with the king is quite an honor."

"But why? Why does the king want to have dinner with me?"

"Do you remember when he came to visit when you were sick?" Loghain asked.

"No. Not really," she admitted. "I only know he came because Mother said he's the one who gave me Ser Ruffalo."

"Indeed," Loghain replied. "Well, while he was visiting, he asked if you would like to come dine with him once you were well. And I'm fairly certain that you promised you would. Of course, you were quite ill at the time, and I doubt the king would hold you to your promise if you really don't want to go. But Maric can be a bit of good fun at times; I'm sure you'd enjoy yourself. So, what shall I tell him? Do you intend to accept his invitation?"

Rhianna giggled. "He's the king! Of course I'll accept his invitation. Especially when it was written out so nicely." She paused. "Will you be there, too?" she asked Loghain.

"As far as I know, I've not been invited."

"Well you can tell the king from me I don't mind if he invites you, too. I'm a bit nervous about having dinner with him. Don't tell him that part, of course. But what if we run out of things to say to one another?"

"I doubt that would happen," Loghain assured her, "but I will pass along your message. And I'll see if I can't manage to get an invitation of my own, as well." He stared at her a moment, shifted his gaze to the package which lay beside her on the bed, and then back to Rhianna. "Well," he urged. "What are you waiting for? Open it."

With a grin, Rhianna tugged at one of the loose ends of the string that held the package together, and then pulled apart the wrapping. When she saw what was inside, she gasped out loud.

"Oh, Teyrn Loghain!" Carefully, almost reverently, she picked up the small leather cuirass that lay at the top of the bundle. There were also vambraces and pauldrons, cuisses, greaves and tassets, all the appropriate size for a smallish eight-year-old girl, as well as a wooden waster small enough for Rhianna to wield comfortably.

This was the reason he had asked to borrow some of her clothing: he needed her measurements for the armorer in the marketplace, so Rhianna could have leathers that would fit her properly, with just a bit of room for her to grow. The armorer, a man called Wade, had done excellent work, both with the design and construction, as well as the little details, like the knotwork pattern he had tooled into the pauldrons. The man was young, but promised to be a master armorer some day in the not-too-distant future.

Rhianna held the cuirass in her lap, running her fingers over the leather. "Oh, Teyrn Loghain," she repeated. "It's so beautiful." She looked up at him. "Is this really all for me?"

"Yes, it's for you. I doubt it would fit anyone else." He glanced at Eleanor, who gave him an encouraging smile, and then back to Rhianna. "Don't you remember what I promised you in the garden, right before you fell ill?"

"I'd asked if you would train me to fight with a sword," she replied. "And you said you would."

"Exactly. Well, now you have the proper kit for it. And . . . I had thought you might want to try it all on, to make certain it fits as it should. And perhaps we could even have our first lesson. Not at Fort Drakon, not just yet, but we'll go there someday soon to train. I thought today we'd just train out in the garden. If you think you're feeling up to getting out of bed again. And if your mother agrees, of course."

Rhianna turned to her mother. "Oh, please!" she begged. "I'm feeling so much better. Please let me put on my new armor, and have a lesson with Teyrn Loghain. Please?"

Eleanor laughed. "All right, darling. I don't see any reason why not. As long as you don't overexert yourself." She turned to Loghain. "I'll trust you to make certain that doesn't happen."

Loghain inclined his head toward the teyrna, giving her one of his rare smiles. "No worries, Eleanor. Your daughter will come to no harm in my care."

•o•


	13. Andraste's arse, girl, do it again!

**_28 Drakonis, 9:25 Dragon  
_****_Highever Castle_**

•o•

Rhianna, unarmed, ducked as the sword flew at her head. She tried to roll out of the way, but before she could get back to her feet, Loghain whirled around and swung at her a second time.

"Too slow!" he shouted, swinging the wooden waster in an arc that missed hitting her, but just barely. "Try it again!"

Before she'd barely had time to take a breath, Loghain came at her, his sword lifted above his head. Rhianna darted to the side, tucking in one knee and rolling out of the way of the wooden sword, but when she popped back up onto her feet, Loghain was there, swinging the waster at her, slicing the air merely an inch above her head.

"You're too slow!" he bellowed. "Andraste's _arse_, girl, do it again!"

They'd been doing this for a solid twenty minutes, after at least an hour of other drills, while Bryce and Maric watched from the edge of the practice field. Rhianna was breathing hard, and Bryce guessed his daughter must be reaching her limit. But at Loghain's command, she immediately assumed a ready stance.

Once again, she dropped and rolled; once again, Loghain seemed unsatisfied with her distance. This time, instead of swinging above her head, he brought the flat edge of the practice sword against her thigh. The slap of wood against leather carried across the practice yard.

Rhianna grunted, stumbling briefly before regaining her balance. She was panting loudly now, her chest heaving, rivulets of sweat running down her face and onto her neck.

"Damn it, Rhianna! You've got to be faster!" Loghain shouted. "Back into position. Now!"

Favoring the leg that had been hit, she complied, crouching, ready to respond to his attack. When he barked at her to "Move!" she pushed down with the ball of her right foot, and sprang, tucked, and rolled in one fluid motion to the left. She was back on her feet before Loghain had recovered from his first swing, and she was able to leap back, well out of the reach of his second attack. She was breathing so heavily now Bryce feared she would collapse, but she managed to stay on her feet.

Loghain stared at her, his brow creased and eyes narrowed. He allowed his sword arm to relax, pointing the tip of the blade toward the ground. "Go get a drink of water."

Rhianna bent over at the waist to catch her breath, elbows resting on her knees, face in her hands. After a moment, she rubbed at the spot on her leg where Loghain had hit her with his sword, then trotted to the water barrel at the edge of the training ground, taking a drink from the ladle.

Bryce remembered the first time Loghain put a weapon in the girl's hand. A half-sized wooden waster, right after Rhianna nearly died from the plague. That day, she'd worn the first set of leather armor Loghain had commissioned for her, armor she'd long since outgrown. The leathers she wore today were the third - or perhaps the fourth - set Rhianna had owned. All of them gifted to her by the Teyrn of Gwaren.

On that first day, nearly four years ago, their training session had lasted barely ten minutes. Loghain had shown her how to grip the practice sword, adjusted her stance, and then allowed her to swing at him only three or four times before it was clear the girl had worn herself out. Rhianna had been thrilled about the experience, though, and could talk of nothing else the rest of the day. "Did you see, Daddy? Did you see me swing the sword? And isn't my new armor pretty? Isn't it the prettiest armor ever?"

Every day for the next month, until the Couslands returned to Highever once Rhianna was well enough to travel, Loghain gave the girl a lesson. At first, they stayed in the garden at the Highever estate; later they moved to the practice grounds at Fort Drakon. By the middle of Firstfall, not only could Rhianna properly swing a sword and parry a variety of blows, but she'd also regained all the strength lost during her illness. Surely that was Loghain's true goal in offering to train her, and for that Bryce would always be grateful.

It hadn't ended there, however. Throughout the past four years, every time Loghain had visited Highever - visits that seemed to come with increasing frequency - he would make the time to train the girl. And when the Couslands were in Denerim, Loghain would take Rhianna up to Fort Drakon nearly every day to spar in the same practice grounds used by Maric's Shield and the rest of the royal armies.

Bryce wasn't entirely sure why Loghain had continued to foster this interest in weapons training, but Rhianna was certainly determined to do her best at it. This had always seemed like a good thing. Unnecessary, perhaps, for a young noblewoman, but good exercise and a worthwhile pursuit so long as Rhianna enjoyed it.

It had been quite a while, however, since Bryce had watched them train together. And today, after witnessing how hard Loghain was driving the girl, Bryce wasn't sure he approved.

Loghain, not winded in the least, strode over to where Maric and Bryce stood, and rested one of his arms against the fence that ringed the practice yard. Maric chuckled, and gave his friend a wry smile, as if to say, "You're in for it, now."

Loghain didn't have a chance to inquire what Maric might have meant before Bryce spoke. "Don't you think you're being too hard on Rhianna? She's working very hard, doing her best, and you're working her into the ground, and shouting at her. And cursing."

"She asked me to train her." Loghain's expression did not change; he merely looked out across the practice field and watched Rhianna take another drink from the barrel. "That's what I'm doing. Training her, just like I would any other of my soldiers. There would be no benefit in going easy on her; she'll learn nothing that way."

"Rhianna isn't one of your soldiers," Bryce insisted. "She's only twelve years old, and she looks like she's about to pass out from exhaustion. You expect too much of her."

Loghain lifted an eyebrow. "I don't expect anything of her she isn't willing to give. Perhaps you expect too little."

Bryce felt his cheeks flush with anger. "I resent that, Loghain. I have nothing but respect for my daughter's abilities, and I'll not have you say otherwise."

"Then let her train. Properly. She doesn't appear to be suffering any harm from it."

Bryce glanced at Rhianna. She was next to the water barrel, bending at the waist to stretch the muscles in her back and her legs. Then she stood up, arching her back and stretching her arms toward the sky.

Looking at her now, you would never know this was a girl who had been small for her age and nearly died of the plague just a few short years ago. She'd shot up in height over the past two years, and was mostly bone and muscle, partly because she trained several days a week, even when Loghain wasn't there to prod her. Her hair shone in the sunlight, and her skin had a healthy glow, especially when flushed from exertion. There was no denying his daughter was the picture of health.

Before Bryce could respond, Loghain continued, "Rhianna has as much raw talent as anyone I've ever seen. But it won't get her anywhere unless she learns how to use it. She's not physically strong, and never will be, judging by her build, but she's got superb balance and timing, and lightning fast reflexes. She's already as good with a bow as most of the archers in the Denerim Regulars, and has the potential to be an excellent swordswoman, but only if someone pushes her, or gives her reason to push herself."

"There's a difference, Loghain," Bruce replied, "between pushing and abuse. I can't see how it was necessary for you to hit her."

"You can't see how it was necessary? Look at her!" Loghain demanded. "She can't take a blow, not now and probably not ever. I barely hit her, and she started favoring the leg. I could kill her with the waster, let alone a real sword. I want her – _you_ want her - to never forget her first priority when fighting, always, is to get the hell out of the way."

"You say that as if you expect her to do this for real one day." Bryce was still angry, but starting to lose his momentum. "The Occupation is _over_. We drove the Orlesians out of Ferelden, remember? Surely you haven't forgotten that business at the River Dane. I, for one, sincerely hope our children will never have cause to take up arms to defend themselves or anyone else, certainly not the way we did."

"That's not the point," Loghain argued. "This isn't just about sword fighting, Bryce. It's about giving Rhianna the chance to do something well, to trust in herself. To help her feel safe, and confident she could defend herself if necessary." He caught Bryce's gaze and held it. "What happened four years ago in Denerim is proof the world isn't always a safe place, even in times of peace."

As if Bryce needed to be reminded of the incident in the guard tower. A mystery that had never been solved.

"Besides," Loghain added, "the Occupation may be over, but it would be foolish to ignore the continuing threat posed by our Orlesian 'neighbors.'"

"Now,_ I_ resent that, Loghain," Maric laughed, but his expression made it clear his protest was at least partially sincere. "Tell me one thing Orlais has done since the peace treaty was signed - just one - that poses any sort of threat to Ferelden."

Loghain turned to the king. "Besides the excessive trade concessions they're exploiting? And the fact there are no fewer chevaliers on our borders now than there were five years ago? And let's not even talk about the Chantry. Maric, you, of all people, know where I stand on the subject of Orlais." He shook his head, then turned back to Bryce. "Of course I hate the thought of any of our children – or ourselves, for that matter – having to take up arms again against those foreign bastards, but to let ourselves get fat and lazy and unprepared would be a mistake.

"But you're both still missing the point." Loghain ran a hand through his hair. "This has nothing to do with Orlais. This is about Rhianna. She wants this for herself, and if she has the discipline to do it, and do it well, she'll have the confidence to do other things, and do them well. And if knowing she can defend herself gives her peace of mind, how could that be anything other than good? I should think it would give you some peace of mind, as well, Bryce."

Rhianna crossed the practice field to join them, still out of breath and limping slightly, but looking cheerful. "Hello Father, King Maric." She turned to Loghain. "All right, I'm ready whenever you are."

Before Loghain could respond, Bryce interjected, "Are you sure about this, Pup? Perhaps it's time for you to take a break."

"A break? Why would I take a break?"

"Well, you look exhausted, for one thing. You've been at this for quite a while now."

"I'm all right," she scoffed. "I'm only a little bit tired. Besides, I don't get the chance to train with Teyrn Loghain all the time; I want to make the most of it while he's here."

"But Rhianna," Bryce argued, "there are plenty of people here in Highever who will train with you whenever you want. It's not as though this is your only opportunity to practice."

"It's not the same," she laughed. "Everyone here is too nice to me, they never try to really hit me. I think they're afraid that if they hurt the teyrn's daughter, they'll end up in the dungeon!" She rubbed at the spot on her leg where she'd been hit with the waster, then gave Loghain a sly glance. "Clearly, Teyrn Loghain isn't worried about that," she grinned.

She reached up on tiptoe to kiss her father on the cheek. "I'm all right, really." Then, she turned to Loghain, "Can we keep going?"

"Of course," he agreed. He bent down to pick up a wooden short sword. "Here." He tossed it to her, and she caught it deftly by the pommel. "I think it's time for you to try that maneuver with this in your hand." She nodded, and jogged out to the middle of the practice field, with Loghain at her heels.

Bryce watched Loghain prepare to attack his daughter, a sword aimed at her head. "I'm still not sure about this, Maric."

"I know you're not," the king chuckled. "But don't take it personally. He's a bastard like that to everyone, not just your daughter. And, if it makes a difference . . ." He nodded in the direction of the practice field. The two men watched as Loghain charged at Rhianna, and she rolled perfectly out of the way, leapt to her feet, and danced backwards out of reach, the practice sword held firmly in her hand. A grin spread across her face, and even Loghain looked pleased.

"She wasn't able to do that at the beginning of the day," Maric said with a crooked smile.

Bryce sighed. He had to admit, however much he disapproved of Loghain's methods, they were effective.

•o•


	14. Barr na Driseig

**_29 Drakonis, 9:25 Dragon  
_****_The Coastlands_**

•o•

Highever Castle had hummed with activity ever since King Maric and Prince Cailan arrived earlier in the week, along with the Mac Tirs and most of the nobles in the northern half of Ferelden. They were all here to attend this year's Festival of Wolves, which took place during the week of the first full moon in Drakonis.

Every town in the Coastlands celebrated Haelia Cousland's defeat over the werewolves who terrorized the area during the Black Age, but the celebrations were most extensive in Highever itself, culminating in a reenactment of Haelia's historic victory, an elaborate, choreographed production that would take place on the morrow.

This year, the crowds were larger than at any time in recent memory. Every room in every inn in the city was rented, and Eleanor struggled to find beds for all the nobles who arrived at the castle. The reason for all the excitement: this year, for the first time in more than an age, a Cousland would perform the role of Haelia, a show that promised to be even more spectacular than usual.

Up in her bedroom, Rhianna sat as still as she could manage while her sister-in-law, Oriana, finished putting braids in Rhianna's hair, a single braid at each of her temples, which would be pulled back and twisted together behind her head. Rhianna usually did them herself, but she sometimes had difficulty getting them even on both sides, and she wanted to look nice today. So she'd asked for Oriana's help, and was pleasantly surprised when her brother's wife agreed.

"I hope you remember that Fergus is planning to take all the young people out on the boat today." Oriana finished one of Rhianna's braids, planting a quick kiss on the end before tying it off with a small piece of leather. "You'll want to go sailing with us, won't you?"

"That depends, I suppose," Rhianna began, "on who else is going. If Habren will be there, I'll skip it. The idea of spending so many hours that close to her makes me feel ill."

Habren had not become less annoying over time; if anything, she was meaner now than ever before, and had been ever since the autumn when the empress had come to visit, when Rhianna had been so sick. Just a few months afterward, Habren cornered Rhianna during the First Day celebration hosted in Amaranthine by the Howes.

"You wretched little bitch," Habren had snarled, flecks of spittle flying from her lips as she backed Rhianna up against a wall in one of the dimly-lit hallways of Vigil's Keep. "I'll get back at you, Rhianna Cousland, if it's the last thing I do."

"Get back at me? Get back at me for what?"

"For stealing my bracelet, and then saying I was the one who locked you away in that stupid tower."

"What? But I never even saw your stupid bracelet, and I never said . . ."

"Don't lie," Habren hissed. "I know it was you. I only wish Teyrn Loghain had never found you. Then you'd be dead, and the world would be a much nicer place." The older girl had turned and stalked off, leaving Rhianna utterly confused, and feeling empty inside.

The world would be a nicer place if she were dead? Surely, that wasn't true. Rhianna had spent the rest of that day avoiding other people, and worrying about what Habren had said. Finally, after climbing to the top of the battlements and visiting with a falcon who made her home there, Rhianna decided Habren was just being mean, but the memory of that day still made Rhianna feel hollow, and just a bit scared.

As the years passed, Habren and her friends - Alysanne Valdric, Tanith Curwen, and of course Thomas Howe - took every opportunity to call Rhianna names, or laugh at her, or tell her how stupid and ugly she was.

So, no. Rhianna had no intention of spending an entire day on a small boat with Habren Bryland. Even if it weren't for Habren, Rhianna wasn't sure she wanted to go. If Teryn Loghain and King Maric weren't interested in sailing, Rhianna might be able to convince them to go on an adventure with her. A day with Teryn Loghain sounded much nicer than a day out on the water.

"Rhianna, you can't let her bother you, especially here," Oriana scolded in her faint Antivan accent. "It is your duty to be a gracious hostess to all our guests." Oriana and Fergus were married nearly three years ago, and their son, Oren, had been born just a few months ago. Rhianna often had the feeling Oriana didn't entirely approve of her, that the older woman thought Rhianna was too headstrong, and spent too much time in the practice yard or riding out in the woods, and not enough time perfecting her needlework. Still, the two were fond of one another.

"I know that, Oriana, but skipping the boat trip _is_ my way of being a gracious hostess," Rhianna insisted. "If I don't have to talk to Habren, there's no chance I'll say something rude. Or accidentally punch her in the nose." Catching Oriana's eye in the mirror, Rhianna grinned, a grin which nearly always worked on both of her parents, and to which Oriana was only some of the time immune.

This time, it worked, and Oriana chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, Fergus will be disappointed if you don't come along. As well as some of the others, I'm sure. Nathaniel Howe, for example."

"Fergus and I can go sailing together any old time. And Nathaniel Howe? Why should he care whether or not I come?"

"I seem to remember you and he had a nice conversation last time we visited Amaranthine. And he is handsome, don't you think?"

"Handsome?" Rhianna wrinkled her nose. "He's all right, I suppose." She certainly wasn't going to admit that yes, she did think Nathaniel was handsome, but mostly because looked rather like Teyrn Loghain, only younger and far less interesting.

"Just all right? I've always thought he would make a good husband for you someday."

Husband? Maker's breath, but Rhianna didn't want to think about husbands. Especially not after the announcement Bann Valdric had made the previous evening at dinner. Rhianna glanced at Oriana's reflection, and noticed the smirk on the older woman's face. "You're teasing me about Nathaniel, aren't you?"

Oriana shrugged, as she tied the end of the second braid. "Perhaps I am. But I'm sure Nathaniel would have been happy to spend the day with you. And," Oriana looked up, catching Rhianna's gaze again, "whether or not you go sailing, you mustn't forget to offer your congratulations to Alysanne Valdric."

Alysanne and her father had arrived in Highever three nights ago. Gerald Valdric was the Bann of Oswin, and last night he announced Alysanne's betrothal to Valudur Krole, the Bann of the Ruswold. Rhianna had never been to that part of Ferelden; it was south of the Bannorn, on the edges of the Brecilian Forest, and seemed very, very far away.

"I'll remember," Rhianna promised. "Even though I'm not sure Alysanne will want to be congratulated. She didn't seem all that happy about it." Actually, judging by the expression on the girl's face after her father made the announcement, Alysanne was dreadfully _un_happy about the arrangement.

That was understandable; Rhianna had never exchanged words with Bann Krole, but she'd seen him a few times in Denerim, and he looked a bit scary. He was a great many years older than Alysanne, older even than Rhianna's father, and was missing one of his legs below the knee, so he had to walk with a crutch. He wasn't at all handsome, either, with thinning grey hair he wore pulled back in an untidy queue, and a scruffy beard that only partially hid the deep pock marks on his face, from some illness suffered in the past. Even though her mother had told her time and time again not to judge people by the way they looked, it was difficult not to be a little bit afraid of Bann Krole.

Rhianna almost felt bad for Alysanne. _Almost._ Alysanne was one of Habren's best friends, after all, and had taunted Rhianna often enough she couldn't bring herself to feel too sorry for the girl.

Even so, Rhianna got a funny feeling in her stomach every time she thought about this marriage. Alysanne was thirteen, only a few months older than Rhianna was now, although Bann Valdric said the wedding wouldn't take place until after his daughter's fourteenth birthday. And this wasn't particularly unusual; Krole was quite a bit older than Alysanne, but these sorts of arrangements happened frequently enough. But Alysanne was the first girl Rhianna knew, other than Anora, to become betrothed. Up until now, it had been easy for Rhianna to think of herself as too young to get promised in marriage. But if Alysanne was old enough, than surely Rhianna was, too.

She didn't need to worry. Not really. Rhianna's parents had promised they would never force her to marry someone she didn't like. Someone scary, or horrible, or mean. But the thought of it still scared her. What if they changed their minds? Or what if someone really important, like a prince from some far-away country, wanted to marry her, and her parents decided to say yes? Rhianna already knew who she wanted to marry when she was old enough, if only he would agree. There was a reason, after all, she sometimes practiced writing her name with "Mac Tir" behind it instead of "Cousland." But if she ended up promised to someone else first, that plan would be ruined.

"No," Rhianna muttered. "I don't think Alysanne is happy about it at all."

"Well, perhaps she isn't." Oriana pulled the braids back and wound them together behind Rhianna's head. "But that's all the more reason for you to be kind to her about her father's decision." Oriana placed her hands on Rhianna's hair, smoothing over the braids she'd just completed. Then, she planted a kiss on the top of the younger girl's head. "In any case, it is nothing to trouble yourself over, little sister. And you look lovely. So let's go downstairs and join the others."

In the castle's great hall, Oriana and Rhianna found everyone else, family and guests, already assembled. In addition to the Couslands, the entire Howe family was present, along with Bann Esmerelle, who had ridden into town with the Howes. Leonas Bryland had been accompanied by not only his daughter, but also by his sister, Lady Harriet. The Eremons - Bann Ranulf and his children Alfstanna and Irminric - had come from Waking Sea, and Bann Franderel made the short journey from the fortress of West Hill. The Valdrics were here, as were Bann Loren and Lady Landra of the River Dane bannric, along with their son, Dairren, who was only a few years older than Rhianna. Rounding out the company were Maric, Cailan, Loghain and Anora.

"Ah, there you are." Fergus' voice carried across the hall. Probably, the remark had been directly at Oriana; Fergus didn't have a lot of time these days for his little sister, but Rhianna tried not to take it personally. Having a baby seemed like quite a lot of work. "We're just about ready to head to the dock." Oriana moved close to Fergus, and he passed the baby to her before putting his arm around her waist. "You are planning to come with us, aren't you my love?"

"Yes, I believe I will, since your mother has kindly agreed to watch the little man for us today."

Fergus turned to Rhianna. "And what about you, Elsie? It's not really a proper day of sailing without my little sister along, and the weather couldn't be better for it."

So he hadn't forgotten about her, after all. A smile spread across her face; what a wonderful man she had for a brother. And it was a lovely day to be out on the water, sunny and cloudless, the wind strong enough, but not too strong. Absolutely perfect for sailing.

As Rhianna had feared, however, there was Habren, already wearing a wide-brimmed hat in anticipation of going out on the boat. When Rhianna glanced at the older girl, Habren sneered and rolled her eyes, and then turned and whispered something to Alysanne that caused both girls to giggle behind their hands.

"I'm going to stay ashore today," she told Fergus, smiling brightly. "You've got plenty of people to help you crew, and I have some things I want to do around town. I should probably practice my lines for the performance tomorrow, as well." Both of those things were untrue. Rhianna had no errands to run, and she knew her lines so well she could have recited them in her sleep. Still, she was determined Habren not get the satisfaction of knowing she was the reason Rhianna had chosen not to come.

Fergus seemed to guess something wasn't quite right with her story, judging by the wrinkle that formed across his brow, but he didn't challenge her. "All right, Pet. Well, we're going to walk through town, so you could always hurry and catch up with us if you change your mind."

As the boat-goers gathered their things and prepared to leave, Rhianna busied herself with a flower arrangement, pulling out flowers one at a time, and putting them back in slightly different places. This was totally unnecessary, as the flowers already looked lovely, but for some reason she felt nervous, and wanted something to do with her hands until Habren and the others were gone.

In the flurry of activity, a tall, dark-haired young man walked over to greet her. His relation to Rendon Howe showed plainly in his features, although the nose that looked severe on the father was rather handsome on the son.

"Hello, Rhianna. It's been a while since we've seen one another. I think you've gotten taller."

She looked up at Nathaniel Howe, and her cheeks grew warm, although she certainly didn't understand why. Thinking he was a bit handsome was different than _liking_ him, so there was no reason for her to be blushing. "Hello Nathaniel. It's good to see you. You've gotten tall, as well, haven't you?"

"Yes, I suppose I have. How old are you now?"

"Twelve."

"Yes, that sounds about right. It also explains the getting taller."

Rhianna giggled. "Yes, I suppose it does."

"So, you're not going sailing with us today, then? That's a shame. I was looking forward to talking with you again. I remember what you told me about the hawk migration, and I spent some time last month watching the birds fly by, and you were absolutely right. I always thought the hawks stayed all year, but now it seems the ones who live near Amaranthine in the winter leave and go further south in the spring, and the ones we see in the summer are ones who wintered across the sea. And I had a question to ask you about whales. I've been seeing a lot of them lately, even from shore."

"Oh." This was . . . surprising. So, Oriana had been right after all. He _was_ disappointed Rhianna wasn't going sailing with them. "No, I'm not going out on the boat today. But . . . um . . . maybe we can talk about your whales later?"

"I'd like that," Nathaniel replied, with a crooked smile that lit up his grey eyes. "Perhaps this evening, or maybe the day after tomorrow. I'm sure you'll be busy tomorrow, preparing for your performance. I'm looking forward to it, by the way. I'm sure you'll be wonderful. Vanquishing the werewolves."

"I hope you won't be disappointed." Rhianna felt her cheeks grow warm again as a shy smile crept across her face. "And yes, we can talk later."

But her smile slipped away when Habren sauntered up, sliding her arm through the crook of Nathaniel's arm. "Come on, Nathaniel. Fergus says it's time for us to go." To Rhianna, "So sorry you're not able to join us, Rhianna. We're going to have so much fun." She shrugged her shoulders and gave a simpering smile, and then pulled Nathaniel toward the door.

With a sheepish grin over his shoulder, he allowed himself to be led away. "I'll talk to you later, Rhianna."

When Nathaniel had turned away, Rhianna rolled her eyes at Habren's back before abandoning the flowers. She crossed the room to stand near her parents and the others who had opted out of sailing. When Maric noticed her, he patted the cushion next to him, indicating she should sit between him and Loghain, who sat at the other end of the bench. She sat, and Maric reached his arm around her shoulders. Rhianna curled up against him, resting her head on his chest for a moment before sitting up straight again.

"Are you quite sure, Maric," her father said, "you don't want to join them out on the boat? It really is excellent weather."

"Oh no. Let the young people have their fun, I say. They don't want to be stuck on a boat all day with their stodgy old king." He looked to the girl at his side. "Isn't that right, Rhianna?"

"You're ridiculous," she laughed. "I can hardly think of anyone less stodgy than you."

"Pup," her father chided, "I don't think it's entirely polite to call the ruler of Ferelden 'ridiculous.'"

"Well," Loghain began, "that's one of the qualities I like best about your daughter, Bryce. She's truthful. And, apparently, a good judge of the ridiculous."

"Oh ho!" Maric exclaimed, leaning away and removing his arm from Rhianna's shoulders to cross his arms in front of his chest. "So, that's how it's going to be? You're both going to gang up on me? I might not have anything to hold over Rhianna's head - _yet_ - but you, Loghain? You might want to reconsider your attitude. Or I might have to tell everyone the real reason I didn't go boating today."

"The real reason?" Rhianna asked. "There's a reason beyond you being stodgy?"

Loghain grunted, as if holding back laughter, and Maric pretended to glare at his friend, and then he looked down at Rhianna through narrowed eyes. "Yes, there is most certainly a reason." He leaned forward and held Rhianna's gaze. "I chose not to go boating because Loghain Mac Tir doesn't like being out on the water. I think he's afraid of it, to tell you the truth. So, _dear_ friend that I am, I stayed behind, instead of abandoning him. Leaving him sitting here, all by himself." Maric leaned even closer before whispering the final word. "Alone."

Holding back a giggle, Rhianna turned to see Loghain's response. He said nothing; he merely raised one of his eyebrows impossibly high, and stared down at the king with a look that might have caused a lesser man to run in terror. But Maric just stared back, squinting his eyes and curling his lip in what Rhianna assumed was meant to be a fearsome glare, but mostly just looked silly. Sitting between them, looking at Loghain, then Maric, and then back to Loghain again, Rhianna burst into laughter.

"Maker's Breath, you're both ridiculous, aren't you?" she giggled. "Well, not you, so much, Teyrn Loghain. After all, you did say a nice thing about me just now. But King Maric? I think perhaps telling everyone Loghain's secret makes you not quite as dear a friend as you would like us to think. And between you and me," she whispered, "your glare could use some improvement. It's not really all that scary."

This elicited a hearty laugh from Maric, as well as Leonas Bryland who was sitting nearby. But not everyone was equally amused.

"Ha ha ha, ah yes. Very droll," Arl Howe drawled. "The girl does like to speak her mind, doesn't she, Bryce? Even past the point of being . . . appropriate." As the laughter of the others faded, the arl gave her a tight smile that might have been meant to lessen the sting of his comment, but didn't really manage.

"So," Bryce asked, raising his voice as if wanting to change the subject, "What are the rest of you planning to do today? It's far too lovely to sit inside the castle." To Maric, he added, "I'm sure Rhianna would be happy to take you around, show you some of the local sights."

"I wouldn't mind going for a ride today," Maric admitted, looking hopefully at Rhianna.

"All right," Rhianna replied. "Let's think of somewhere interesting to go."

Maric rubbed his hands together and smiled. "What do you suggest? What was the name of that beach you took us last time we were in town?"

"Sarim's Point," Rhianna answered. "Do you want to go there again?"

"Oh, I don't know," Maric said. "It was a lovely beach, and the weather is good for swimming. Although I wouldn't mind seeing somewhere new."

"Well there are lots of places," Rhianna said enthusiastically. "There are some Alamarri ruins not far from here, or we could ride up into the hills where there are lovely views of the ocean and the Bannorn. Or we could hunt, if you like. I've taken you to Sothwood, but I don't remember us ever hunting the Bockland together; it's not that far south from here. We might find boar, if we're lucky."

"Alamarri ruins? That sounds interesting. I should like to see some ruins, I think." Maric turned to Loghain. "What do you think, Mac Tir. Ruins? Or hunting? Or the beach again?"

"I'm not in the mood for a hunt, but other than that, it's all the same to me." He looked down at Rhianna. "I didn't realize there were Alamarri ruins nearby. Where, exactly?"

"I'll show you." Rhianna popped up off the bench and crossed to the cabinets lining the far wall. She retrieved a rolled up parchment, and when she returned, she sat closer to Loghain. He helped her unroll a map of the Coastlands, holding one edge while she held the other, and she pointed to a small triangle just to the left of Highever Castle.

"They're west of Highever, just here, along the coast. As you can see, they're actually very close to the castle as the crow flies, on the other side of the highlands. If we could go straight through, it would only take a few minutes to ride there. But because of the hills, it will take about an hour to go all the way around. Really, there are two different sets of ruins – one on the mainland, and the other on an island to the northwest, here." She pointed to another spot on the map. "But we'd need to take a boat to get to the island. And," she grinned, "since _someone _is apparently not fond of boating, I suggest we go to the ones on the mainland."

Catching Loghain's eye, Rhianna pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, and Loghain raised one of his formidable eyebrows at her just as he had at the king. It failed to have the desired effect (or perhaps, it did), because she let out a merry peal of laughter. When she turned to look at Maric, he winked at her before he, too, burst out in laughter.

"Now, darling," her mother scolded, although her tone was light, "don't be cheeky. You're supposed be gracious to our visitors, not mock them."

"Yes, Mother," Rhianna replied, making an effort to keep a straight face. When Maric nudged her leg with his knee, however, and she glanced over at him, they both broke out laughing again.

"Maker's breath," Loghain swore, "I don't know if I can take an entire day with the two of you."

Rhianna forced herself to stop laughing, and gave Loghain an apologetic smile. "Don't worry, Teyrn Loghain. We won't tease you all day long." She turned to Maric, "Will we?"

"No, of course not. Rhianna and I will be nice to you at least . . . half of the day. Does that sound reasonable?" Again, Rhianna and Maric burst into laughter, and this time, even though Loghain shook his head as if dismayed by this display of mirth, he chuckled softly.

"All right," Rhianna said once she'd caught her breath, rolling up the map. "We'll go to the ruins, then. How many are we? Uncle Leonas? Lady Harriet? Lady Landra? Will you be joining us?"

Arl Bryland smiled warmly at the girl. "Oh no, my dear. I'm on holiday, which means I will enjoy nothing as much as sitting right here in this lovely hall, enjoying a glass of port and a conversation with my dear friend, your father. Who is, I hope," he turned to Bryce, "not intending to go along on this expedition?"

Bryce chuckled, "No, not me. I've seen the ruins, and I should be here in case anything comes up regarding the festivities tomorrow."

"Well, I certainly won't go be going to any ruins," Lady Harriet said in a breathy voice. She was a plump woman with small blonde curls that stuck out in all directions from underneath the linen cap she always wore. "I don't see the point in visiting something run down and broken. I don't imagine there are any shops there?"

"No, Lady Harriet," Rhianna replied. "There aren't any shops. No one has lived there for centuries."

"Hmph," she exhaled loudly. "Well, I'll stay here with Leonas. And the port."

"I think I'll stay here, as well," Lady Landra agreed. "It's a bit warm outside for my liking."

Rhianna turned to the Howes, "And what about you, Arl Howe, Arlessa? You'll join us, won't you?" She smiled, while wishing fervently for them to decline the invitation.

"My dear girl," Howe said silkily. "We've just ridden all the way from Amaranthine last night. How could you imagine we would have any desire to get back on our horses today?" The arlessa merely gazed down her nose at Rhianna, as if the question itself had been too ridiculous to warrant a response.

Bann Ranulf had accompanied his children and the others on the boat trip, and the remaining visitors - Banns Loren, Esmerelle, Valdric and Franderel - had already located a pack of cards, and were at a table across the room dealing out the first hand of a game of Ruff and Honours.

Which left only Eleanor. "Mother? Would you like to come with us?"

Eleanor gave her daughter a warm smile. "As much as I would love to go for a ride out into the country, I've got my hands full with Oren. Besides I'm not sure your father can be trusted to take proper care of our guests without some . . . guidance." She grinned, glancing at her husband, who rolled his eyes in response, but joined in the laughter that followed.

"Well, then," Maric said, clapping his hands on his knees before propelling himself up off of the bench. "It looks like it's just the three of us. As usual." Offering a hand to Rhianna, he helped her up as Loghain got to his feet.

"I'll go ask Nan to pack a lunch for us." Rhianna looked down at the dress she was wearing. "And I think I'd better change into trousers. Let's meet at the stables in fifteen minutes."

•o•

"So, Rhianna," Maric asked as they rode at a leisurely pace along the road that would take them to the ruins, "are you excited about being in the play this year?"

"Yes, and no," she answered. "I suppose I am excited . . . but . . . well . . . it wouldn't be so bad, except practically everyone I know will be there, watching. What if I make a mistake? Say the wrong words, or do something stupid, like fall off the platform and land on my head? I'll be so embarrassed; I might never be able to show my face again."

She didn't add that the person she was most afraid of embarrassing herself in front of was riding beside them at that very moment.

"You're not going to fall off the platform, Rhianna." Maric urged his horse right beside hers, and leaned close before whispering loudly, "Just between you and me? No one watching is going to know exactly what you're supposed to be doing or saying. So, if you make a mistake, just act as though it was what you were supposed to do, and keep on going. No one will know the difference. Trust me, I do that all the time."

Loghain snorted with the effort of suppressing a laugh. "That's the truth."

Rhianna giggled, "All right. I'll try to remember." She paused. "I do know it's a great honor, and it's the first time in quite a while a Cousland will be performing in the play. Most of all, though, I'm happy I was able to convince Father we don't need to make a sacrifice this year." It was tradition to sacrifice a live animal, usually a wolf, as part of the festival, but Rhianna wanted nothing to do with any such unnecessary bloodshed, and in the end, Bryce had agreed no sacrifice was needed.

"No sacrifice?" Maric's voice was stern. "Yes, I heard something about that from your father. I'm not sure it's a good idea. There is something to be said for tradition, after all. And not angering the Maker."

"Tradition? I don't see the point of a tradition that involves killing an innocent animal," Rhianna replied. "And it doesn't seem possible the Maker would appreciate the death of one His beautiful creatures."

"Innocent animal, indeed," Loghain commented dryly. "Have you never seen a sheep after wolves have gotten into the pasture?"

"So very true!" the king agreed. "They're bloodthirsty beasts!"

"Well, they need to eat, just as we do," Rhianna said sensibly. "I don't remember either of you turning your noses up at the mutton Nan served last night."

"Rhianna Cousland," Maric admonished. "You have a duty to the people of the Coastlands. You can't go around not killing things just because you think they're cute and fluffy."

Cute and fluffy? Rhianna glanced at Maric, who was smiling, and then at Loghain, who was not, but there was something mischievous about his expression nonetheless.

"Oh, Maker's Breath!" the girl swore with a laugh. "You're both just having me on, aren't you?"

She ought to have expected this; it wasn't the first time the two men had teased her, and she'd done her share of teasing as well, over the years. Starting that night, four years ago, when Rhianna had dined at the palace at Maric's invitation. Since then, Loghain, Rhianna and Maric had forged a pleasant, comfortable friendship.

That first night, Loghain had managed to invite himself along, and the three of them had a lovely evening. Maric had been kind, and said things to make Rhianna laugh, and not once had they run out of things to say to one another. Then they had walked in the palace garden, and Rhianna had shown Maric the family of squirrels, and confided in him about her ability to communicate with animals (after Loghain assured her the king could be trusted with her "secret"). Later, Rhianna convinced Loghain to tell a story, and she'd sat in the king's lap while the teyrn described the first time the Rebels defended Gwaren from the Orlesian invaders.

Since that night, the three of them sought out one another's company as often as they could manage, riding out together near Highever when Maric and Loghain came to visit, or dining together at the palace or the Gwaren estate whenever Rhianna was in Denerim.

Rhianna loved the time they spent together. Their personalities complemented one another perfectly: Maric, and his constant, amiable chatter; Rhianna, and her curiosity and mischief; and Loghain, who spoke less often, but always made his words count. They had wonderful conversations, and laughed and joked with one another. Rhianna had never felt as comfortable with anyone else outside of her family; it was just so . . . easy to be with the two of them, and they both seemed to like her, as well.

She was hit with a wave of happiness as she realized what a treasure it was to have an entire day to spend with two of her favorite people in all the world.

"Wolves not bloodthirsty beasts. They're gorgeous," she scolded, trying to sound offended. "Unlike the two of you . . . you're both horrible, aren't you?"

"Yes, we are," Maric agreed. "But you adore us just the same. Don't try and pretend otherwise." Maric winked at her, and she giggled again.

Oh yes. This was shaping up to be a very entertaining day, indeed.

Half an hour later, they arrived at the ruins: a square five-story keep flanked by the two remaining sides of the inner wall that once enclosed a central courtyard. Not far from the keep stood the remains of a guard tower. An ancient dovecote crumbled at the opposite end of the courtyard.

"This is Barr na Driseig," Rhianna explained. "At least that's what the Alamarri called in the old tongue. We call it Thornhill in Fereldan. It was built more than a thousand years ago, back before the ages were named, or Andraste was born. At least five hundred years before Highever Castle was built in the Divine Age."

The trio dismounted, and Loghain and Maric tied their mounts loosely to an iron post near one of the walls. Rhianna nuzzled Carrot's nose gently. "You'll stay right here and wait for us, won't you Carrot?" The mare whinnied in response, flicking her ears.

"I've been meaning to ask . . . " Maric began. "Carrot? Is her name really Carrot? Not that there's anything wrong the name, but it's . . . well, it's just not very dignified, if you know what I mean."

"Carrot isn't her real name," Rhianna replied. "She's called 'The Antivan Fascination,' but when Mother gave her to me, I had a hard time pronouncing that. So I started calling her Carrot, after her favorite snack." She turned her face up to Carrot, and was rewarded by the horse's broad nose pressed against her forehead. "And Carrot still loves carrots, doesn't she?" Rhianna crooned as she pulled a carrot from her pocket and offered it to the mare. The horse blew a puff of air across Rhianna's face before picking the carrot up carefully with her teeth and munching contentedly.

With Rhianna leading the way, the trio passed through an archway in one of the remaining walls, and climbed the stone steps to the first floor of the tower. "Father told me originally, there weren't permanent steps leading up to this door," she began. "There were just stairs made of wood, which could be pulled inside if the keep were under attack, so enemies couldn't just walk into the tower."

Inside, they explored the upper floors, each of which had been divided into varying numbers of rooms. On the first floor, there was a kitchen, with a round, vented oven built into one wall, and a pantry lined with stone shelves. Up a spiraling staircase, the second level was a single large, open space, which had probably been used as a banquet hall. "Ooh, look!" Rhianna exclaimed when she saw a hole cut through the floor, and covered by an iron grate. "It's a murder hole, isn't it? For pouring hot oil on enemies who invaded the keep?" She turned to Loghain. "Do you think the people who lived here ever lit any invaders on fire?"

"From what I know about the Alamarri, I would guess yes, they probably did," Loghain replied. "Relations between the various peoples living here were unstable for centuries, before Calanhad united the tribes. It's possible Andraste herself might have stayed here, while she and Maferath conquered the south."

The third floor was divided into bedchambers, and as Rhianna, Loghain and Maric explored, they took turns at inventing stories about the people who had once lived inside.

"This," Rhianna intoned, in one of the smaller upstairs chambers, "is the room where a very naughty boy named Elton was locked away by his parents, after he lit his hands on fire and threw his supper at his mother. Eventually, he was shipped off to the Circle Tower, but not before he'd burned up all his furniture, and wasted several days' worth of breakfasts, lunches, and dinners."

"I heard a story once," Maric began in one of the other rooms, "about a not-so-beautiful princess who tried to kill herself by leaping out this very window. All because her parents refused to allow her to spend all their money at the shops, buying shoes, which she loved very, very much. Unfortunately for her parents, she survived the fall, but her shoes did not, so they were forced to take her shopping, after all."

"Let me guess," Rhianna laughed. "Her name was Habren."

When it was Loghain's turn, he glanced inside a small, dark chamber in one of the corners of the tower. "Dogs. This is where they kept the dogs." Maric and Rhianna shared a confused glance, and then burst into laughter at Loghain's pathetic attempt at the game. But when Loghain caught Rhianna's eye and winked, she realized he'd given a deliberately bad story as a joke.

The top floor was separated into only two rooms, the living quarters for the lord and lady of the keep. In places, the roof had crumbled leaving the room open to the elements. The tower was near enough to the sea that a constant hum of waves crashing on the shore, and the sharp cries of birds circling on air currents above, drifted in through the open roof.

A final set of stairs, partially collapsed, led up to the roof. Rhianna climbed them, avoiding the places that were broken, and hopped up on what remained of the original walkway from which guards would have kept watch.

Maric climbed only the first three or four stairs before stopping. "Rhianna? It looks rather . . . precarious up there. Perhaps you should come down?"

"I'm all right," she called back, enjoying the way the breeze caught in her hair. "It's lovely up here! I have the best view of the countryside; I can see all the way to the castle. And there's a boat out on the bay that just might be Fergus and the others." She jumped across a gap in the walkway, and went further out along what remained of the roof.

"At least come away from the edge?" Maric turned to Loghain. "Shouldn't we make her come down from there? If she were to fall . . ."

Loghain didn't even look up from the carving he was examining on one of the columns holding up what remained of the roof. "Don't fuss at her. She won't fall."

Maric wasn't satisfied with this, however, and continued to make unhappy noises until Rhianna took pity on him and came down from the roof.

Back on the first floor, Maric pointed out a staircase going down. "There's still one more floor below us," he said, taking the lead as they descended to a floor that was partially underground.

Rhianna hesitated at the top of the stairs; she didn't like basements. At least this one was only partially underground; there were still windows letting in enough daylight so only the corners of the room were in shadow. She followed after the king, with Loghain close behind her.

This level had been used for storing food and weapons, and for keeping livestock warm during the winter. Jutting out from one of the walls, a small chamber was separated from the rest of the room by a locking iron door.

"This must have been the dungeon." Maric stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind him, and peering through the barred window. "I don't suppose either of you have the key. This could be your chance to lock me away and be rid of me forever, you know," he laughed.

"Why would we want to do that?" Rhianna asked.

"So the two of you could run off together with the lunch basket, and have all the food to yourselves."

"Oh." Rhianna glanced at Loghain. "That's not a bad plan, really. Teyrn Loghain, you haven't seen a key around here, have you?"

"I haven't. But I'll look over here, and you search that half of the room. If it's here, we'll find it. Do you think Nan sent tarts? If so, I claim Maric's share."

"Wait a minute!" Maric protested. "I was joking! What sort of friends are you, anyway? Plotting to steal my tarts?" He laughed, and pulled open the door, but as he tried to step out of the chamber, he stumbled. "Damn. My foot caught on something." He put a hand out against one of the walls to steady himself, and bent down for a closer look. Rhianna knelt beside him as he brushed dirt out of the way to reveal a wooden panel set into the floor. It had been designed to lie flush with the surrounding floor, but hadn't been closed completely, and one corner was slightly raised.

"What in the world?" Maric used his fingers to pry up the end of the board. When it came free, and he pulled it away, his eyes grew wide at what was revealed underneath: a set of stairs spiraling down. Daylight only reached as far as the fifth step; beyond that, it was completely dark as the stairs stretched away under the tower.

"Maker's Breath," Maric exclaimed. "Where does this go, I wonder?" Loghain came up behind them to peer down into the darkness as well.

"I don't have any idea what's down there," Rhianna muttered. "I never knew there was a trapdoor here, or anything under the ground, until now."

"Oh ho!" Maric clapped his hands together. "Somewhere new to explore!"

Explore? Oh, Maker. King Maric wanted to go . . . down there? Down those steps, into that darkness?

"Do you have torches in your pack, Rhianna?" Maric asked.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Rhianna replied.

"Very good!" Maric got to his feet. "You two wait here while I get one."

As Maric hurried away to retrieve a torch from Rhianna's saddlebag, she stared down into the blackness, a hollow feeling in her stomach. They were going down into some part of the ruins she had never even known existed? Underground? Anything could be down there. Anything at all.

And it was so dark . . .

"You don't have to go down there, Rhianna," Loghain murmured, putting a warm hand on her shoulder. "I'll accompany Maric, make sure he doesn't get into any trouble, while you wait outside in the daylight. No one will think worse of you for it."

Rhianna blinked up at him, feeling embarrassed. How had he guessed she was scared of the dark? She'd tried to keep it a secret from everyone. She didn't want people to think she was a baby.

She especially didn't want Teyrn Loghain to think she was a baby. He'd said he wouldn't think worse of her, but what if that wasn't true? Not that he would lie to her, but what if she really was being a baby and he couldn't help but be disappointed?

Then again, Loghain had been the one who pulled her out of that dungeon. He was possibly the only person who genuinely understood what it had been like for her that day. He had been there, seen what that room was like. How cold and dark and horrible it had been.

Most of the time, she tried not to think about what happened that day. She just avoided places that scared her: caves, tunnels, the underground parts of Highever Castle. All places she had roamed with abandon when she was small, but made her skin crawl now. Anywhere the light couldn't penetrate. Anywhere a person could be locked away and left to die. So far, no one had noticed. Nor had they noticed that sometimes she cried out in her sleep from nightmares of darkness and dripping water.

She looked up at Loghain. He didn't smile, but there was something in the set of his mouth, the look in his eyes, something friendly and warm and strong, and she realized he _was_ telling the truth. He wouldn't think any less of her. He really wouldn't.

She hated being scared, she hated there were things she was afraid to do, places she was afraid to go. She hated being haunted by those memories. It had been four long years. Maybe it was time to face this fear, put it behind her.

Closing her eyes, she remembered how she had felt that day: so small, so cold, so terrified and so utterly alone. And then she had heard his voice, and seen the light of his torch, and known she was safe. Because Loghain had come for her.

One thing was certain: there would never be a better time to face this fear than right now, with Loghain Mac Tir at her side.

She opened her eyes, and held his gaze. "It's all right. I can manage. I want to stop being afraid of the dark. Perhaps I can do it right now. With you beside me."

•o•o•o•o•o•

As Maric hurried away to retrieve a torch from Rhianna's saddlebag, Loghain watched the girl's reaction. She stared down into the blackness, her brow creased and a frown marring the cheerful lines of her face. She seemed embarrassed he'd guessed she didn't want to go underground, and then she had closed her eyes and taken slow, deliberate breaths, as though trying to force herself to be calm. He hadn't realized until now she was still afraid of the dark, but it was hardly surprising.

They had never learned who was responsible for locking her in the guard tower that day. After Habren had been eliminated as a suspect, Loghain carried the sketch of the button around with him, stopping in shops in the Marketplace, and on the docks, and anywhere else he went in the city. He began looking at all of the people he knew, and people he saw in town, in the marketplace or in the tavern, as potential suspects, examining the buttons on their clothing. But no button that matched had ever surfaced. It was as if that Maker-damned button was the only one of its kind in all of Thedas.

For at least a year after the incident, Loghain found himself drawn to that basement room time and time again, where he inspected every inch of the building, upstairs and down, outside in the street, and in the alley where he'd followed the rat. Once, he'd forced himself to enter the room without a torch, and closed himself up in the cell where Rhianna had been kept prisoner (although he didn't pull the door completely shut). As he sat in that profound, unrelenting darkness, he had been nervous and disoriented and slightly panicked after just a few minutes. The same darkness Rhianna suffered for hours, the darkness where she'd caught the plague that nearly killed her.

No wonder she was afraid of the dark.

Eventually, he forced himself to stop dwelling on it, resigned to the fact they would probably never solve this mystery. Instead he invented excuses to visit Highever. He rode into town on his way "somewhere else," in spite of the fact Highever wasn't on the way to anywhere else. He convinced Maric to organize visits and hunting expeditions; never a difficult task, as Maric was nearly as fond of the girl as Loghain was. On every visit, Loghain took Rhianna out to the practice field as often as possible. If he couldn't discover who had done this to her, he could at least teach her to defend herself should someone try to harm her again.

The previous day, when Bryce chastised him for training her "too hard," Loghain felt not one shred of remorse. And today, knowing she still harbored a fear of the dark, and perhaps other things as well, he was even more determined to help her become the best warrior she could possibly be, to purge herself of the helplessness she had admitted to him after her ordeal.

He meant what he said; he wouldn't think less of her if she didn't want to go down there. He didn't particularly want to go down there himself, but Maric had that excited look in his eye, and there would be no dissuading him from this little adventure. But there was no reason the girl needed to put herself through it, as well.

But then she opened her eyes, and looked directly into his. "It's all right. I can manage. I want to stop being afraid of the dark. Perhaps I can do it right now." She blinked once, and bit her bottom lip before adding, "With you beside me."

Maker's breath. A swell of pride went through him, at her courage. If she was willing to face the darkness again, she damned well wouldn't have to do it alone.

There was another feeling, as well: a small, tentative surge of pleasure.

Pleasure that she still placed so much trust in him. That she still believed he could keep her safe.

"All right," he replied. "Just stay close. We'll do this together."

When Maric returned, carrying a lit torch and leading the way down the stairs, Loghain took Rhianna's hand before they followed Maric into the darkness.

At the bottom of the stairs, an unpaved tunnel sloped gently downward. "It's heading east, I think," Rhianna whispered. They could no longer hear the waves crashing against the shore, nor the cries of gulls and ravens. It would have been completely silent if not for Maric's cheerful banter as they walked.

"I wonder who built this," he mused. "Has this been here all along, built at the same time as the keep, or did someone come along and excavate it later? Or maybe it was here first, and the keep was built above on purpose!"

Rhianna, who had earlier been so conscientious about answering the king's questions, said nothing. Maric didn't seem to notice, or care.

"It's dry down here, that's something," Maric continued. "Sometimes underground places get so uncomfortably damp. Not the Deep Roads though, eh, Loghain? Of course, I wouldn't have minded a bit of damp down there, if it would have meant fewer spiders. Or darkspawn. Especially darkspawn."

Loghain also didn't bother to respond; Maric had always been capable of chatting incessantly without much participation from his companions, and Loghain wanted to listen for sounds other than Maric's voice, to make certain they weren't walking into some unexpected danger.

"I do wonder what Nan put in that basket we brought with us." Maric sounded like a child at the holidays. "I know it's early, but I'm starting to feel a bit peckish." He chuckled. "After this, I vote we stop and have some lunch. And I also vote that all the tarts should be mine, to make up for both of you being so horrible a few minutes ago. Planning to lock me up and steal all the food. Absolutely shameless, the both of you."

For once, Rhianna failed to giggle at one of the king's jokes.

For several minutes they followed the tunnel down into the earth. All the while, Maric filled the silence with his comments, seemingly unaware of Rhianna's unease and Loghain's vigilance.

Finally, they arrived at a stone wall that appeared to be a dead end.

"Well, that's disappointing," Maric complained, lifting the torch higher to inspect the wall. "Why on earth would this tunnel be here, leading to nothing?"

This seemed to be a genuine question, rather than just idle chatter. Maric glanced at Rhianna with a curious expression on his face before continuing to examine the wall.

"Perhaps it was used for storage?" Rhianna suggested. "The temperature down here would be more constant – and cooler - than up above. Better for keeping food and wine."

"Or . . . " Maric reached up and pushed gently on a single stone sticking slightly further out than the ones surrounding it, "maybe there is something behind here after all!"

There was a "click," and then stone grated against stone as a section of the wall swung away from them, revealing another section of tunnel. Maric gave Loghain and Rhianna a triumphant smile and walked through the opening in the wall. This new section of tunnel was short, only a few feet to the other end, where a stone archway stood, encasing a wooden door. With his free hand, Maric pushed at the door, which swung open easily.

He glanced back at Rhianna and Loghain, who were still standing on the other side of the wall. "Well, what are you two waiting for? Come on!"

Rhianna's fingers tightened around Loghain's. Her face was pale in the flickering torchlight, and her breath was coming faster than usual. She stared at the opening in the wall. "If pushing on one stone opened it," she whispered, "what do you think makes it shut? And if it closes when we're on the other side, will we be able to open it again?" There was a slight tremor in her voice.

Loghain frowned. "Perhaps this isn't such a good idea, Maric."

"What? Why not? Oh, come on; there's a room just beyond here. I think there are paintings on the walls. It looks remarkably interesting!"

Just as Loghain was about to repeat his protest, he heard Rhianna's intake of breath. "We're coming," she announced, and then stepped through the opening, pulling Loghain along with her.

Beyond the wooden door, the chamber was round, about thirty feet wide and fifteen feet tall, with four columns supporting the wooden ceiling up above. A large stone fire pit dominated the center of the room, and there did not appear to be any entrance or exit other than the secret passage they'd come through. A strange odor permeated the room: charred wood and damp earth, but with another scent underneath. An animal smell, musky and acrid, like damp fur, but unlike anything Loghain had smelled before. It was unpleasant and . . . disquieting. The earthen floor was bare of carpets or tiles, and there were footprints in the dirt: shoeprints made by humans, as well as animal tracks of some kind.

Rhianna slipped her hand out of Loghain's and knelt close to the floor. "King Maric," she murmured, "will you bring the torch closer? Shine it right here?" The king complied, and she pointed to the tracks in the dirt. "These look sort of like wolf tracks." And indeed they did; the prints had four toe pads, tipped with claws, surrounding a larger, central pad. "But the shape of the big pad is wrong. It should be more triangular, with rounded edges. Not square like this. These don't look like any tracks I've ever seen before."

Rhianna blinked up at Loghain, her eyes wide and her face pale. Even Maric, who had been so cheerful just moments before, was frowning. Loghain offered her a hand to assist her in getting back to her feet, and after she stood, she kept hold of his hand as they looked around at the rest of the room.

One of the walls was decorated with drawings, stylized, but not really crude, painted in a dark substance that looked disturbingly like dried blood. It was a series of pictures appearing to tell a story. In the first scene, a man played with a puppy. The next scene showed a human and a large dog – or perhaps it was supposed to be a wolf - doing something together . . . dancing, perhaps? The wolf was standing on its hind legs, its paws held in the hands of the human. The final picture showed just a single figure standing on two legs like a human, but with the head and claws of a wolf.

"Blessed Andraste," Maric breathed. "That's a werewolf, isn't it?"

"I think so." Rhianna's voice was barely above a whisper. "This part of Ferelden is where werewolves are said to have first appeared. Maybe that's even supposed to be Hafter, or Hafter's real father." She glanced at Loghain. "Remember what Mother told us about him, when she scolded me for not knowing when Alamar had been founded?"

"That Hafter's true father was a werewolf," he answered.

"I've heard that story," Maric began. "Maybe this place – this exact place – is where the werewolves came from, originally." He sounded both nervous and excited in equal parts as he glanced around the room. "Perhaps this is some sort of shrine, or holy place dedicated to werewolves. Except I thought the werewolves were all killed. Isn't that what your ancestress did, back in the Black Age?"

"I don't know. I mean, yes. Haelia Cousland defeated them, but there have always been rumors in the Coastlands of werewolf sightings. I always assumed they were just stories to scare children into not being naughty and not going out at night. Fergus I spent a great many nights camping out in the woods, and we certainly never saw or heard any werewolves. As far as I know. But this . . . " Her voice trailed off, as she glanced at the tracks on the floor. Then, she looked back the way they had come. It wasn't difficult to guess that she was thinking of that secret opening in the wall, which looked like it could so easily swing shut again.

"Perhaps we should go." Her voice was higher-pitched than usual; she sounded younger, and scared. "There's a funny smell, and those tracks are just . . . wrong. I don't . . . I don't feel safe here."

She looked up at Loghain, a silent plea in her eyes, as if she feared Maric would balk at the suggestion and need to be convinced.

Maric, however, had apparently had enough of this place, as well. "Yes, it does smell odd in here." He held the torch aloft to light their way. "Follow me."

A few minutes later, having left the secret door open, but putting the wooden floor panel back in place, they emerged into the sunshine. Rhianna let out a breath she probably hadn't realized she'd been holding. With a final, reassuring squeeze, Loghain released her hand, and was rewarded with a grateful smile. The temperature outside was warm, pleasantly so, especially after the chill of the chamber below the tower.

"Well, that was certainly an adventure!" Maric grinned as he ground the lit end of torch against a rock, and stamped out the remaining sparks with his boot. Any unease he might have felt about their underground discovery seemed to have evaporated in the sunshine. "Werewolves. Who would have thought? I'm more interested than ever in seeing your performance tomorrow, Rhianna. I wonder if your parents know about this place. We'll have to tell them about it." As they walked back to the horses, he suggested, "Perhaps we should eat our lunch now? It's a bit early, but it's nice out in the sunlight."

Rhianna shot Loghain a panicked look. Clearly, she wanted to be away from here, and frankly, he felt the same. The animal scent in that room had been unnerving, as well as the drawings and the footprints. Almost certainly, there was no real danger, but just in case, even though Loghain and Maric both had weapons handy, there was no point in courting trouble. Better to put some distance between themselves and this place before they stopped for lunch.

"Why don't we wait a bit before eating. I still haven't worked off the generous breakfast Nan fed us," Loghain said casually. "And, as you pointed out, it is still early. It would be unpleasant to run out of food and be hungry later in the day." He'd seen the contents of the lunch basket Nan had prepared; running out of food was one thing that would almost certainly not happen, but that hardly seemed worth mentioning. "Unless you're ready to head back into Highever?"

"Return to the castle? Oh no," Maric exclaimed. "Not that there's anything wrong with the castle," he amended, with a glance at Rhianna. "But it's been a while since the three of us have had a day together; I would love to stay out and explore the countryside. If you don't mind leading a couple of idiots around for the rest of the day," he said, winking at Rhianna.

"Well . . . " She bit her lower lip and looked apologetically at Maric. "I do have rather a lot to do back at home."

"Oh, of course." Maric's smile began to fade. "You did say you had errands to run in town. And I suppose you need to prepare for tomorrow."

"Well, really, I was more interested in making progress on my needlework." Just the previous night Eleanor had complained about Rhianna's lack of interest - and skill - at needlework, and Maric's smile returned as he realized the girl was joking. Rhianna grinned. "But if you insist, I suppose we can ride a bit farther."

"Oh, that's a relief! For a moment there, I thought you were serious. Where shall we go?"

"Somewhere interesting, and perhaps not quite so . . . dark." She glanced at Loghain. "Oh, I know. There is a lovely circle of standing stones we could visit, inland from here. But first, we'll ride along the coast, to see the sea lions."

"Sea lions?" Maric asked. "I'm not sure I've ever seen a sea lion. What do you think, Loghain?"

"It doesn't matter to me where we go." An uncertain look darkened Rhianna's face, as if she worried he wasn't pleased with her suggestion. That wasn't what he'd meant when it said it didn't matter. He genuinely didn't care. He was happy with the company, and would have been glad to go anywhere she suggested. But he didn't want to risk hurting her feelings.

"We have sea lions near Gwaren," he said. "I would enjoy seeing if yours are different."

Rhianna's smile lit up her eyes. "To the sea lions, then."

•o•


	15. One person in Ferelden

**_29 Drakonis, 9:25 Dragon  
_****_The Coastlands_**

•o•

Maric couldn't help but smile as he rode beside Rhianna on the road that paralleled the sea. The sun was warm on his head, and the wind ruffled his hair, keeping him from feeling uncomfortably hot. The scenery was beautiful, the ruins had been fascinating, and now they were off on yet another adventure. Best of all, he was with two of his favorite people in all the world. Today was absolutely perfect; he couldn't have pictured a more pleasant day if he had planned it himself.

He glanced at the girl riding beside him. His initial assessment of her had been correct, on that Satinalia so many years ago: Rhianna Cousland was delightful. She was funny and charming and kind, and seemed to view the world with a light heart. But what Maric loved best about her was how comfortable she was around him, not overly impressed that Maric was the King of Ferelden. She didn't fawn on him, or become shy and withdrawn. She just talked to him like she would anyone else, and had no qualms about teasing him, even laughing at him. Considering how much time he spent around people who refused to treat him with anything but formality, this was extremely refreshing.

After they'd ridden about half an hour from the ruins, Rhianna indicated they should stop and dismount. They were at the top of a cliff, and stretching out below was a cove whose sliver of sandy beach was littered with rocks. To the west, a promontory extended several hundred feet out into the water, creating a crescent-shaped bay.

"We have to hike a little way," Rhianna explained as she led them to a rough dirt path that switched back and forth down the side of the cliff. She looked back over her shoulder to make certain Loghain and Maric were following. "It will be worth it, though. I promise."

The path was narrow and rocky, forcing Maric to pay close attention to his footing, but he did stop occasionally to look at the scenery. The view from up here was gorgeous; the sea was turquoise close to the shore, and the color of sapphires farther out. Sunlight sparkled on the water, and the sky was a clear, rich blue, with huge, puffy white clouds floating serenely by. The white sand of the beach seemed to glitter as the waves kissed the shore.

As lovely as it was, something seemed to be missing. "I'm not entirely sure what they look like," he called out to Rhianna, "but I don't think I see any sea lions down on the beach. Or in the water." If they were meant to be here, why hadn't he spotted one yet?

"That's because they're on the other side of the bluff," Rhianna called back.

"Then how are we going to see them from this side?" Maric asked.

"We can't see them from this side."

"Oh. Then what are we doing on this side?"

"That's why we're walking, King Maric. To get to where we can see them," Rhianna giggled. "You're like a small child, wondering when we're going to get there. It's not far, I promise."

About halfway down the hill, Rhianna led them off the main path, onto something little more than a rocky seam jutting out from the cliff face. Placing her feet carefully, Rhianna led them to an outcropping of huge boulders, and proceeded to scale a particularly large one. There didn't seem to be anywhere else for her to go, however. The path they'd been on - if you could even call it a path - had ended, and the cliff face further along was far too steep to climb.

Maric stopped, forcing Loghain to stop behind him. When the girl realized they weren't following, she looked down at them.

"What are you waiting for? Come on!"

"Where, exactly, are we going, Rhianna?" Maric asked.

"You'll see! Just . . . trust me. We're very nearly there."

Maric glanced at Loghain.

"You heard what she said." Loghain gestured for Maric to keep moving. "We're very nearly there."

With a sigh, Maric pulled himself up onto the top of the boulder, with Loghain close behind. He still didn't see anywhere to go.

Then, without a word of warning, Rhianna lowered herself through a crevice between some rocks, and disappeared from view.

What? Where had she gone?

When Maric hesitated, Loghain made an impatient noise, then moved around to follow Rhianna through the opening in the rocks, leaving Maric standing all alone atop the boulder, feeling a bit foolish. He peered through the crevice into which his two friends had disappeared; it wasn't entirely dark inside, and he could hear noises. The soft whisper of surf against rocks, and something that sounded like dogs barking. So, he eased himself over the edge, and hopped down into the hole.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and he took in the view from where he stood, he was delighted by what he saw.

Rhianna had led them inside a vast sea cave whose walls, tinged green from algae, stretched up more than a hundred feet. From where they stood, about forty feet up from the bottom, the cave was open to the Waking Sea on the north side, letting in both light and water to create a small lagoon inside. The air smelt of kelp and salt water, and frothy green waves lapped against the huge rocks that ringed the water, dark black rocks streaked white with bird guano. Guillemots flitted back and forth, comical black birds with white patches on their wings and bright red legs and feet. Their high-pitched cries echoed in the cavernous space, along with the barking Maric had heard from up above.

He soon discovered the source of the barking: reddish brown animals lounging on the rocks, or playing in the shallow water near the mouth of the cave. Rhianna's sea lions, several dozen of them. They looked quite like seals, with flippers and cigar-shaped bodies, only they had longer snouts and small ear flaps on the sides of their heads. And they were bigger, much bigger than any seal Maric had ever seen, some much bigger, even, than a grown man. Maric laughed to see one of the creatures haul itself up onto a rock, then push another back into the water.

"This is magnificent!" Maric exclaimed. "I've never seen anything like it before. So these are sea lions? I had no idea they would be so big. Do we have sea lions near Denerim?"

"I don't know," Rhianna admitted. "I've never been to the coast near the city. Just to the docks, and I've never seen any there."

She turned to Loghain. "What do you think about the cave, Teyrn Loghain? And the sea lions? Do you like them?" Rhianna's tone was hopeful, and Maric got the feeling she was rather more interested in Loghain's opinion of this adventure than she had been in his own.

Loghain turned to the girl, unsmiling. Rhianna's own smile began to falter until Loghain reached up and put a hand on her shoulder. "It's beautiful here." He turned from her, moving close to the edge of the rocks so he could look out over the lagoon. "I think these are different than the sea lions in Gwaren. Ours are a bit smaller, and darker brown with longer fur. He clasped his hands behind his back. "I expect not many people know this is here. Thank you for bringing us, Rhianna. It was well worth the hike down the cliff."

Loghain had his back to the girl, and couldn't see the way Rhianna's cheeks turned faintly pink, how her smile grew brighter and her face seemed to glow at his praise.

Those two really did get on well together. Loghain had nothing but good things to say about the girl, and he'd put a lot of effort into helping her train at arms. Of course, it was hardly surprising Loghain would enjoy Rhianna's company. She was bright and charming. It was difficult to believe she would have trouble getting along with anyone.

The surprising part was Rhianna seemed equally fond of Loghain. _Loghain_. Maric nearly chuckled aloud at the thought of Loghain Mac Tir and the ever-cheerful Rhianna Cousland being friends. Not that Loghain was nearly as gruff as most people thought him to be. Maric wouldn't have been best friends with the man for more than half his life if Loghain lived up to that part of his reputation. It's just Loghain didn't always have a lot to say, and didn't tolerate stupidity, or groveling, or anything in the least bit Orlesian. And he harbored far too much misplaced guilt for things that happened during the Rebellion, and later, with his wife. But he was a good man, the best man Maric had ever known. Insightful and witty, loyal, and compassionate. A true friend. Possibly the only person in all the world Maric genuinely trusted.

There had been a time when Maric feared the friendship they'd forged during the Rebellion had been destroyed beyond repair. For a few dreadful years, right after the Occupation ended, Loghain had made himself scarce, only visiting Denerim when absolutely necessary. Maric understood the reasons for it, good reasons perhaps, but that hadn't kept Maric from missing him terribly. So after Rowan's death, and the death of Loghain's infant daughter, Maric had encouraged Loghain to stay in Denerim. Maybe that had been selfish. Well, certainly it had been selfish, but Maric had needed Loghain, had needed his presence and his friendship. Had even needed his anger and his sarcasm. Had needed him to handle the responsibilities Maric couldn't quite bring himself to handle. And Loghain hadn't argued; he'd seemed content to stay.

Maric tried to be a good friend; he _was_ a good friend, surely, but he suspected Loghain was lonely in Denerim, even with such an enthusiastic best friend as Maric. No surprise. Maric was often lonely in Denerim, himself, and would have been miserably alone if not for Loghain Mac Tir.

And then Rhianna Cousland had swept into their lives, like the warm touch of the sun in spring after a dark, cold winter. With laughter and smiles and jokes and a sense of adventure. Maric considered her his friend, and it made him happy to think Loghain had found a friend in her, as well.

Now, with a grin and a wave, she scampered down the rocks down to the waterline, greeted by enthusiastic barking from several of the sea lions. A small sea lion - perhaps little more than a pup - pulled itself awkwardly onto the ledge where the girl sat, and rolled over to have its belly rubbed. Maric found a rock where he could sit comfortably, and Loghain did the same, and for the next several minutes they sat together, watching Rhianna play with the sea lions.

"I never knew there were caves like this, right next to the water. Do you think there's anything like this near Denerim?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Loghain replied. "But I've not done a lot of exploring near the city."

"I think we should plan an excursion to do just that. Go looking for caves, and sea lions, near Denerim, next time Rhianna is in town. We can do that, can't we?"

"You're the king, Maric. In theory that means you get to do whatever you want. I have no doubt an excursion to find sea lions is within the realm of possibility."

"Good point." Maric leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him. "I think I'll try and convince Bryce to bring the family to Denerim for Summerday. That's just a month and a half away. And then the three of us - you, and I, and Rhianna - can look for sea lions along the coast." Yes, that was a very good idea.

Maric's stomach growled. Hmnh. He was still hungry. Quite a bit hungrier than before, probably because they still hadn't eaten lunch. He'd asked about it earlier, but somehow it had been forgotten in the excitement of finding that cavern underneath the ruins. Time to bring up the subject again.

"Rhianna," he called down to her. "I wonder if it's getting late enough we could justify opening up the basket and having something to eat?"

"Of course!" Rhianna laughed, and climbed back up to where Loghain and Maric were sitting. "If you're done looking at the sea lions, we can go back and have lunch now."

When they'd made their way back to the top of the cliff, Rhianna laid down a blanket near the edge, and spread out the food Nan had prepared - a feast that was, literally, fit for a king. The salty air was brisk and refreshing, and kept them from feeling too hot in the sun. Chatting amiably, they enjoyed the food, and looked out over the Waking Sea, and watched the gulls and fulmar and kittiwakes play in the winds that battered the cliffs.

After lunch, they rode due south, away from the coast to the standing stones Rhianna had mentioned. It was a relatively small henge, just thirteen stones, in a ring of about forty feet in diameter. The largest of the stones was not quite twice as tall as Loghain, and a few of them had toppled over, lying on the ground like fallen giants. Jackdaws hopped on the grass, and sheep grazed in the fields nearby. Maric searched around on the ground near each of the stones, but failed to locate another secret passage of any sort.

It was a pretty spot, but after walking around the henge for a few minutes, there really wasn't anything else to do. And here inland, away from the breeze coming off of the sea, it was uncomfortably warm in the sun.

"Perhaps we should try and find somewhere a bit cooler to spend the rest of the afternoon?" Maric suggested.

"I know somewhere we could go, about a hour's ride from here," Rhianna replied. "It's one of my favorite places in all the world, up in the hills. You did mention swimming earlier, King Maric, and it's a really lovely place to swim, if you're still in the mood. It is in the opposite direction from the castle, though, which means we're not likely to get home until dark."

In the heat of the sun, Maric felt damp and sweaty. "Swimming sounds wonderful. And we're in no hurry, are we, Loghain?"

"Not at all."

"Fabulous! Lead on, then, Rhianna. You haven't led us astray yet, so I trust wherever you take us will be as lovely as everything else we've seen today."

They rode southwest, and further inland toward the foothills. Soon, they were climbing in elevation as they left the open plains of the Coastlands and started up a road into the mountains that would have eventually taken them to West Hill, if they stayed on it long enough.

They'd only ridden a short way up the mountain, though, when Rhianna pulled into a shaded clearing, and slid off of her mount. "We'll need to go on foot from here, but don't worry. It's not a terribly long hike."

Maric and Loghain followed her on what was at first a narrow path, and then a maze rocks and trees and the occasional grassy meadow. Eventually, she led them up a steep hill that had to be climbed, rather than hiked. Loghain struggled a bit, carrying the food basket, but they soon reached the top, and found themselves in one of the most beautiful places Maric had ever seen.

They stood in a grassy meadow dotted with wildflowers and surrounded by tall trees: stately oaks, graceful willows, brushy hemlock, and an occasional pine that stretched above all the rest, casting it's long shadow on everything below. Nearby, a tumble of rocks formed a natural dam, creating a dark pool of water about a hundred feet wide, and twice again as long. A family of wood ducks swam amidst the reeds that grew tall along one side, and flowering lilies - pink and white and yellow - floated in the shallows. At the far end, a twenty-foot foot waterfall plunged into the pool from the rocks above.

As they walked though grass dappled by sunlight that filtered through the trees, Rhianna looked back at her companions. "Well? What do you think?"

"This is amazing, Rhianna," Maric said sincerely. "It's absolutely beautiful. And you said something about swimming?"

"Oh yes. Fergus and I have swum here dozens of times. The water will be cold, especially this time of year, but if you don't mind that, it's perfect."

"I'm not afraid of a little cold water. How about you, Loghain? Do you fancy a swim?" Maric expected Loghain to say no; the man often declined to participate in activities designed purely for pleasure.

But to Maric's surprise, Loghain nodded. "I'll swim."

After abandoning the lunch basket on the grass, the three of them began pulling off their boots and unnecessary clothing. Before the two men had barely started undressing, Rhianna had climbed out of everything but her smalls and her linen shirt. "Watch this!" she cried, running along the edge of the pool, and then out of sight behind a large boulder. A few moments later, she reappeared at the top of the waterfall. "Teyrn Loghain! King Maric!" she called out, waving with one arm. "Look at me! Here I come!"

She leapt off the top of the waterfall, making a large splash into the deep water below. When she surfaced, she swam back across the pond and climbed out of the water near where the two men stood. "Maker's Breath," she exclaimed, "but the water is cold! You'll have to jump in. If you try and get in slowly, you'll never manage!"

With that, she turned and ran to jump off the waterfall again. Maric glanced at Loghain. "Here goes nothing," he shrugged, before taking a running start and leaping into the pond.

The chill of the water forced the breath from his lungs, but after the initial shock, it felt wonderful. Maric surfaced, sputtering from the cold, and tread water while Loghain walked to the edge and peered into the lake. Apparently satisfied it was deep enough, the dark-haired man dove into the pond.

Rhianna tried to convince them to jump off the waterfall with her, but both men declined. Maric thought it seemed a bad idea, considering he was only wearing his smallclothes. If they were to come off during some sort of waterfall jump, Loghain would tease him about it for the rest of their lives.

Instead, Maric and Rhianna amused themselves by diving down and looking at the plants and fish near the bottom of the pond, and at least once, startling a turtle into diving for cover. Loghain swam laps up and down the length of the pool.

Every so often Rhianna would run up the side of the hill to jump or dive off the waterfall. Once when she was at the top, Maric noticed a dark shadow on her leg. Curious, he looked more closely the next time she left the water. It was a bruise, and a rather ugly-looking one. Black and purple, vaguely rectangular, about the width of the wooden practice sword.

Maker's breath. Loghain had hit the girl hard when they'd sparred the previous day. She hadn't complained nor seemed angry about it though, not even a little bit resentful.

Maric's own reaction at that age would have been far different. He frowned at the memory of what he had been like when he was twelve. By that time, the Orlesians had occupied Ferelden for more than sixty years, forcing Maric and his mother, Moira, the Rebel Queen, to move continually in order to stay one step ahead of the chevaliers. Maric had a duty to learn all the things that would help him be king someday, assuming they could retake the throne from the Usurper. So he trained with a sword from the time he could lift one, and learned to read and write in Fereldan and Orlesian, and studied history and diplomacy. His mother even taught him to dance, which seemed silly, considering they lived in make-shift camps and rarely had reason to celebrate.

As a child, he really had wanted to do things well, wanted to do his best, but most of the time his best seemed not to be very good. Especially when it came to fighting. So he shirked at his training, and focused on playing pranks instead. It was easier not to try too hard, not to care too much, when no matter what he did he'd only end up failing at the things other people cared about the most. It was easier to brush away their disappointment if he could tell himself he wasn't really as useless as everyone thought; it was just that he hadn't made his best effort.

Besides, it hadn't seemed to matter. His mother was the important one, the one who would rule. The one whose presence inspired such loyalty that people pledged their lives to her. Maric believed he would never be anything like her, even though his mother promised someday he would grow into the sort of man who could be a good king.

"I believe in you," she had told him, over and over again. And he knew she meant it. He just never believed he was worthy of the faith she had in him.

And then, not long after his eighteenth birthday, his mother had been murdered in front of him, betrayed by Fereldan nobles who decided to throw in their lot with Orlais. He'd watched her die, helpless in spite of all those years' worth of lessons, and been thrust into a new life he hadn't known how to face.

At Rhianna's age, he had complained about the lessons. If someone had hit him with a practice sword hard enough to leave a bruise, he would have whined about it for days. He had believed his mother invincible, strong enough to defeat anything that threatened them. So when the time had come to use the skills he was supposed to have learned, he'd been too surprised and scared to do anything. He had not understood how important it was for him to be able to defend himself, or someone he loved.

By the time he learned that lesson, it was too late for his mother. Very nearly too late, period.

Loghain, too, had watched his own mother murdered in front of him, violently, unable to stop it from happening. No doubt, the memory of that day contributed to the man's persistence in teaching Rhianna to wield a sword.

Shivering, and not just from the cold, Maric watched Rhianna fling herself gleefully off of the rocks, plunging into the water below.

Maker forbid Rhianna Cousland would suffer something similar, that she would be forced to watch someone she loved die, or be required to defend herself from harm. As Bryce had said, the Occupation was over. But Loghain was right. This world was not always a safe place, and teaching the girl to fight properly could only be a good thing.

A few minutes later, Rhianna swam over, and not long after that, Loghain joined them in the shallow part of the pond, where they could stand and talk without treading water, and Maric forced himself to push aside all uncomfortable thoughts, and focus on enjoying the rest of this lovely day.

Maric submerged his head, and when he came back up and shook his hair, water sprayed across Loghain and Rhianna.

"Was that really necessary?" Loghain raised a brow.

"Oh, I am sorry," Maric drawled. "I didn't mean to dampen you."

Rhianna giggled, and Maric turned to her. "I don't think Loghain likes being splashed," he whispered loudly. "So, whatever you do, don't splash him!"

"Oh, King Maric," she whispered back, equally loud, "you should never have told me that. Don't you know I'm unable to stop myself when someone tells me I'm not to do something? Just ask my Nan! I'm very naughty like that. I might have to splash the teyrn, now you've told me not to."

Loghain pursed his lips, as if considering how to respond, but before he could speak, Maric replied melodramatically, "I beg of you, dear lady. Reconsider this course of action! If you splash him, he is liable to get extremely grumpy and I fear you might suffer dread consequences. As might I. It could get very nasty."

Rhianna giggled. "It's too late! I don't think I can stop myself!" Pushing one hand across the surface of the water, she sent a wave of droplets directly at Loghain.

Loghain stared at Rhianna as tiny rivulets of water ran down his face.

"Oh, Maker's breath, Rhianna!" Maric cried. "What have you done? Don't you know who he is? The infamous Teyrn of Gwaren, the dread Hero of River Dane. The man whose icy stare has killed dozens of grown men! Whatever you do, you mustn't splash him again!" Then, he winked at her.

With an impish grin, she sent another wave of water cascading towards Loghain.

This time, after wiping one of his hands across his face, he spoke. "You do realize, my girl, you will suffer the consequences for this?" He glared at her, and Rhianna's jaw went slack, her mouth falling open as she stared back at Loghain.

He continued to glower, as her eyes grew progressively wider. Probably wondering if she had made him genuinely angry.

Had she made him angry? Loghain's stare was . . . formidable.

Finally, Loghain broke the silence. "What are you staring at, girl? If I were you, I'd start swimming away. Fast."

With that, he leapt into action, making a lunge for her she only barely managed to dodge. Flailing in the water, she swam toward the waterfall. About halfway across the pond, she turned to see if Loghain was following, but he had disappeared beneath the surface. Rhianna tread water, looking frantically to see where he had gone. Suddenly, she disappeared, pulled below the surface by Loghain, no doubt.

For a moment, all was quiet and still. It was almost as if Maric were the only person left in all the world.

Then, Rhianna's head broke the surface, and she gasped for breath. Loghain emerged with a splash directly in front of her. She shrieked in surprise, and swam for the edge of the pool, but before she could get all the way out of the water, Loghain grabbed her by the waist, and tossed her backwards – as if she were no more than a rag doll – to splash down in the pool.

When she resurfaced, Rhianna laughed merrily. "That was fantastic, Teyrn Loghain!" She swam toward him, back into shallow water. "Do it again!"

Loghain laughed, and complied with the girl's request.

Maker's breath. Was Loghain . . . playing? Actually playing with Rhianna? Maric couldn't remember seeing Loghain quite like this ever before. Not . . . ever. The two of them chased one another for several minutes, then Rhianna swam near Maric and quite deliberately splashed him in the face, necessitating a swift and brutal retaliation of his own . . .

A while later, exhausted and waterlogged but laughing, the three companions climbed out of the water. Maric and Loghain both got back into their trousers as Rhianna fell backwards onto the grass. She stretched her long, coltish legs, reaching her arms up over her head, and then sat up, running to fetch the lunch basket from where it had been abandoned near the edge of the trees. Loghain slipped on his shirt, not bothering to do up the laces, while Maric decided to remain shirtless. The sun felt delicious on his skin.

"I'm hungry after all that swimming," Rhianna announced. "Is anyone else in the mood for a snack?" She laid out the blanket, and pulled the leftovers from their lunch. Before grabbing anything to eat, however, Rhianna turned her back to the two men and pulled off the linen shirt she'd worn in the water. She wrung out as much water as possible, then slipped it back over her head. Only then did she pick up a pasty, taking a huge bite.

After settling himself on the blanket, Maric took a swig from the flask of wine. "I have a question, Rhianna. When are you going to tell us the truth about earlier today?"

Rhianna's brow wrinkled. "The truth, Your Majesty? I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, you said you had 'things to do around town,' and yet somehow you were free to spend the entire day showing Loghain and I around the countryside." He gave her a penetrating look. "Why did you really decide not to go out on the boat? I know you like boating."

"Oh," she replied, looking sheepish. "That." She chuckled, nervously. "Yes, I love boating. But . . . um . . . I didn't want to spend that many hours with Habren Bryland. She's horrid. You might not have noticed if you haven't spent a lot of time with her, but she is. Horrid, I mean."

Maric laughed. "I see. And that's the only reason you decided not to go out on the boat? It had nothing to do with the fact you wanted to spend the day with me? And Loghain, of course. But mostly me."

Rhianna giggled, but her nose wrinkled a bit as if she were embarrassed. "You know I like going on adventures with you, King Maric. And with Teyrn Loghain," she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "And if it weren't for Habren, I would have tried to convince you both to come sailing, so we would have spent the day together regardless."

"Good answer," Maric replied. "Still, even without the two of us, I would have thought spending the day in the company of other members of that party . . . Nathaniel Howe, for instance . . . might have made it worthwhile."

"Nathaniel Howe? Why does everyone keep talking to me about Nathaniel Howe?"

"Everyone? Who else was talking to you about Nathaniel?" Maric asked.

"Oriana. This morning. She said Nathaniel would be disappointed if I didn't go on the boat trip. So why are you asking me about him?"

"I'm just being nosy. I saw the two of you talking this morning, and it looked as though you were enjoying the conversation, that's all."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "You probably think I should marry him, don't you? That's what Oriana seems to think, and I know Arl Howe wants me to marry one of his sons. There's no way I would ever marry Thomas. He's almost as horrid as Habren. I suppose Nathaniel's all right, but even so I don't want to marry him."

"I don't necessarily think you should marry Nathaniel Howe," Maric said carefully.

"Good." Rhianna replied, allowing her arms to relax.

"I suppose," Maric mused, "Bann Valdric's announcement last night is what put the idea of marriages into people's heads."

"I suppose. I don't really like thinking about it, though," Rhianna admitted.

"Why not? You want to get married some day, don't you?"

"Well, yes . . ." Her voice was somewhat more subdued than usual, and her eyes flitted across Loghain's face again before she continued. "But the idea scares me, too. I don't think Alysanne is happy about having to marry Bann Krole. I wouldn't be." She shrugged. "I know my parents wish I was the one betrothed to Cailan, so I could be queen someday. Not that I want to be queen. And I can't imagine being married to Cailan, either. He's nice enough, but sometimes he says things that aren't very smart . . ."

Her eyes grew wide, and she looked at Maric with a horrified expression. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I didn't mean anything bad. He is your son, after all, and he's always been very sweet to me."

"It's all right Rhianna," Maric reassured. "I know you didn't mean anything bad. To be honest, Cailan does have a habit of saying things that aren't very smart. Takes after his father that way." Rhianna smiled gratefully, and Maric continued, "So, if you don't want to be queen, what do you want?"

She chewed on her bottom lip, and glanced at Loghain. "Well, I'd like to be a . . . teyrna, actually. I'd be a quite good teyrna, I think. I had hoped I might inherit Highever someday, but now Fergus and Oriana have a baby, that probably won't happen."

"You thought you might inherit the teyrnir?" Loghain asked.

"Oh yes. I love Highever, and for a while Fergus didn't want to be teyrn. He wanted to travel, be a merchant or something. Go to the Free Marches and make his own way in the world, instead of being important just for being born a Cousland. But I think he changed his mind when he got married. And he'll be a good teyrn, it's just . . ." She sighed, but didn't finish her sentence.

"It's just what?" Maric urged.

"It's just . . . if I'd inherited the teyrnir, it wouldn't have mattered who I married. But now . . ." she wrinkled her nose, "I'm afraid my parents will choose someone for me. A 'good match.' Politically, I mean. Mother and Father always promised I wouldn't have to marry someone I don't like, but that's not the same as being able to marry the person I want to marry, is it? And what if they choose someone from somewhere else? Somewhere outside Ferelden? Like what happened to Oriana. She's from Antiva, originally, except I think she was happy to come here and marry Fergus. But it scares me to think I might have to leave Ferelden."

Again, she glanced at Loghain, and she inhaled as though she intended to say something else. But instead of speaking, she pressed her lips together and sat back on her heels, looking rather uncomfortable.

Something was going on in her head. Something that was making Maric very curious. "What are you thinking about, Rhianna?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you. You are thinking about something." He paused. "Come on, you can tell us. It's just Loghain and I. You can tell us anything, you know that."

"I was . . . I just . . . well, I was just thinking there is one person in Ferelden who would be a good match for me." She caught Loghain's gaze, looking up at him uncertainly. "I mean you, Teyrn Loghain. It would be a good match for both of us." She looked down at her hands. "If we were to get married, neither of us would be marrying beneath our station. And an alliance between the two teyrnirs would be good for Ferelden, wouldn't it?"

Maric's eyebrows shot up. Maker's breath. This conversation had just taken an unexpected – and decidedly interesting – turn.

Rhianna and _Loghain_?

It was obvious they genuinely enjoyed one another's company, but the idea of a union between the two of them was something Maric had never before considered. She was young, much younger than Loghain, but a few years from now that would hardly matter.

Maric glanced at Loghain. The man's brow was furrowed, and his expression looked frozen in place, almost as though he'd stopped breathing. But what was he thinking? Was it discomfort? Or embarrassment? Perhaps just surprise? Perhaps he even liked the idea.

Rhianna and Loghain. This might well be an avenue worth pursuing.

"I suppose an alliance between Highever and Gwaren would make Ferelden stronger," Maric replied. Then, he pretended to glower. "But I want to know what you're talking about, 'the only person in Ferelden.' What about me? I'd be a good match for you. I'm the king. I'd be a good match for anyone!"

Rhianna blinked up at him, looking shocked. "Your Majesty! What are you on about? I can't possibly marry you!"

"Why not?" Maric chuckled, but a moment later felt an unexpected stab of jealousy. Why wouldn't Rhianna want to marry him? Everyone else seemed to like him. Rhianna had always seemed to like him. Certainly, he was far more likeable than Loghain, with his scowls and his cold stare and the way he hardly ever smiled. And Maric was the _king_. Why would she protest so strongly against the idea?

"I told you, I don't want to be queen. I don't know anything about being a queen. But I know all about being a teyrna. My mother's a quite good teyrna, and I would be, too. I know I would."

Ah, perhaps this wasn't about Loghain after all. Perhaps Rhianna was just being pragmatic.

Well, there was one way he could find out . . .

"You know," Maric said with a calculatedly casual tone, "If you're serious about this, you could always ask Loghain to marry you. Again, I mean."

"Maric." Loghain's voice was dark, accompanied by a threatening glare Maric hadn't seen in a great many years.

"What?" Rhianna asked, a crease forming across her forehead. "W-what do you mean, 'again?'"

Maric glanced again at Loghain, whose scowl had deepened. Well, Maker damn the man and his threatening looks. This was far too interesting a topic to be dropped. "Don't you remember, Rhianna? When you were five, you asked Loghain to marry you."

"No I didn't!" Her breathing sped up. "Did I?" she added in a small voice.

"Oh ho," Maric laughed heartily, "you most certainly did. Loghain bandaged your arm and told you a story, and you said that in all the tales you knew about the Rebellion, Loghain was the 'handsomest' of all the companions. And someday you'd have to marry someone 'very special' and you didn't know anyone 'specialler' than Loghain. Sadly," Maric frowned, "he had to decline your offer. Celia was still alive then. But perhaps if you were to ask him again now, he might have a different answer!" With a wink at the girl, Maric sat back, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Rhianna's face grew pale, and she swallowed once, glancing at Loghain, and then back to Maric, looking horrified. Then a fierce blush burst across her cheeks, and she buried her face in her hands. Sitting beside her, Loghain looked like he wanted to strangle someone. The someone being Maric, no doubt.

Rhianna sprang to her feet. "I need to . . . go . . . o-over there," she said vaguely, pointing to the other side of the meadow. Before Maric or Loghain could respond, she sprinted across the meadow toward the waterfall.

When she was out of earshot, Loghain sat forward so quickly Maric flinched, fearing the other man intended to strike him. "Why on earth would you say that to the girl?" he raged. "Embarrassing her that way was nothing short of cruel!"

Maric held his ground. "What? It's true, isn't it? She asked you to marry her. And I thought perhaps, if she did it again, this time you would say yes. Apparently she's feeling a bit shy this afternoon. But I think you should."

"Should? Should what?"

"Are you a complete idiot?" Maric blinked at Loghain. "Speak to Bryce, of course. Make an arrangement with him to marry Rhianna when she comes of age."

"Marry Rhianna? Have you gone mad?" Loghain hissed. "You can't possibly suggest I marry Rhianna Cousland."

"I course I haven't gone mad. And yes, I do think you should marry her. Don't tell me you haven't considered it."

"No, I haven't considered it! Maric, what is wrong with you? She's only twelve years old. I can't . . . think about her like that."

"Why not? I know she's only twelve, but she won't be that age forever. I'm not suggesting you marry her tomorrow, and it's hardly unusual for these things to be decided well in advance. Like Bann Krole and the Valdric girl. You're younger than he is. And just look at her. Rhianna is utterly charming, determined, very smart. She knows how to manage things, how to talk to people. Like she said, she'll be an excellent teyrna. And she's going be a beauty. Don't pretend you haven't noticed that, either. So you ought to speak to Bryce now, before he makes an arrangement with someone else."

"I'm not interested in marrying her," Loghain insisted. "Or in marrying anyone else. My first attempt wasn't particularly . . . successful. So just let it drop, all right?"

"No, Loghain, I'm not going to let it drop. Just because you and Celia . . . just because your marriage wasn't all it could have been, doesn't mean you have to spend the rest of your life alone." Maric reached over and put his hand on Loghain's arm. "You don't deserve this life of isolation you've forced upon yourself, Mac Tir."

"Isolation?" Loghain snorted, pulling his arm away from Maric's hand. "I'm hardly isolated. When am I ever alone? Between nobles and soldiers and . . . well, I see you every day, don't I?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it."

"Just what makes you think she would have any interest in marrying me?" Loghain growled. "In case you didn't notice, when you brought up the 'proposal' she made when she was_ five_, she looked horrified and ran away."

"How thick are you, Mac Tir? She didn't run away out of horror. It was her idea in the first place, remember? 'There is one person in Ferelden who would be a really good match for me,'" he mimicked. "She ran away because she was blushing. She's embarrassed at the thought of you knowing she likes you."

Loghain let out a long breath. "I'll grant she might have developed some sort of . . . attachment. But there's a difference between what a girl feels when she's twelve, and how she'll feel in a few years, when she starts noticing boys her own age. It's obvious to me what this is about. She's afraid she'll have to marry someone foreign and leave Ferelden," Loghain insisted. "There are other reasonable prospects here, but unless her parents are willing for her to marry beneath her station, I really am the only option."

"No, you're not," Maric argued. "I _am_ the king, after all. But clearly, she doesn't want to marry me, which tells me her interest must have little to do with politics, and everything to do with _you_. She likes you, Loghain!" He snorted. "Far better than she likes me, apparently."

"Of course she likes me better," Loghain replied. "Who wouldn't? You are an arse."

"That's more like it!" Maric laughed. "Although I hardly deserve your name calling, just for stating the obvious."

"There is nothing obvious about any of this." Loghain ran a hand across his face. "Maric, look. I realize this must seem like a grand idea to you, in that way you have of latching on to 'grand ideas' that usually aren't, but I am not going to marry Rhianna Cousland."

"Why not? Why are you so adamantly against this? Can't you see it would be good for both of you?"

"I've said I'm not interested, Maric. I don't want to discuss it any further."

"Maker's balls. If you're truly not interested in marrying her . . . well, you're a damned fool." Maric sat back, crossing his arms in front of him. "Something I am not. Maybe I'll speak to Bryce."

"Don't you dare!" Loghain's eyes flashed. "Don't you dare speak to him on my behalf."

"What makes you think it would be on your behalf? Maybe I'll marry her myself. I've been a bachelor longer than you have, and I'm far less disagreeable and bad-tempered."

It was a bluff, of course. Maric was in no position to marry again, not when he might be called away at any time. Called away to fulfill a promise he'd made years ago. Not that Loghain knew anything about it. That was part of the promise: that Maric never speak of it to anyone, not another living soul. Which he hadn't, no matter how many times it had burned inside of him. No matter how many times he'd wanted nothing more than to confess it to Loghain, to confess how much it horrified him. How much it scared him. How much he dreaded it. So, no. Maric would not marry Rhianna, nor anyone else.

Loghain, however, must have believed the bluff. The look in his eyes caused a flutter of fear in Maric's stomach.

"Yes, Maric," Loghain snarled. "If you think she's so lovely, by all means, marry her yourself."

"Damn it, Loghain!" Maric slammed a fist on the ground. "I'm not going to marry the girl myself, you idiot. I should. She's going to be an absolutely lovely woman. She reminds me more than a bit of Rowan, come to think of it. But I'm not the one Rhianna wants to marry. Besides," he added with a crooked smile. "I recently received a marriage proposal from someone else."

"A proposal?" Loghain frowned. "From whom?"

"From Empress Celene. Well," he amended, "it wasn't an actual proposal, not yet, but she wanted to open up a dialogue along those lines." Loghain glowered, obviously preparing to launch into a tirade, but Maric cut him off. "Before that vein in your forehead pops, don't worry. I am well aware any union between Celene and myself would effectively give Ferelden back to Orlais, without all the pesky bloodshed. I've already written back, making it clear I am not interested."

"Well, that's good to hear. I would have hated having to kill you to prevent you from destroying Ferelden," the teyrn said wryly.

Maric chuckled, well aware that his friend was only mostly joking. "No worries, Loghain. I have no intention of marrying the Orlesian empress. Nor," he added, unwilling to let the previous subject drop, "do I have any intention of talking to Bryce Cousland. I want Rhianna to be happy, and I'm not the one who could give her that."

Loghain rubbed at one of his temples. "If you think I have a chance of making her – of making anyone – happy, you're being . . . ridiculous."

"You're wrong about that." Maric caught Loghain's eye. "It's not as though you've never made a woman happy before. And I'm not talking just about Celia."

"Don't." Loghain put one hand up in protest. "Don't bring her into this. I mean it, Maric." Something in Loghain's voice, a dark, dangerous note, told Maric this time he really had pushed too far.

Maric held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "All right. But I am serious about the girl. You and Rhianna genuinely like one another. And other than myself, she's the best friend you have. Judging by how often you make excuses to come see her," Maric added wryly.

Loghain's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps. But I'm nearly as old as her father, and, as you've so helpfully pointed out, I'm disagreeable and bad-tempered. What sort of husband would I be for a cheerful young woman like Rhianna?"

Maric leaned close, grasping Loghain's arm so tightly the other man couldn't pull away. "The sort of husband who would care for her, Mac Tir. Who would laugh with her. Who would spend long days riding in the country with her. The sort of husband who would be there when she needed you, who would be strong for her when she was scared. You care about her, Loghain," Maric insisted. "Don't try and pretend you don't. I remember how you tended her when she had the plague. And I saw you holding her hand earlier today."

"I never said I didn't care about her." Loghain sounded harried. "Of course I care, and I enjoy her company. But that's not the same as wanting to marry her. For her sake, damn it, as well as my own. Besides, the reason I held her hand is because _you_ led us on a merry chase into that underground lair. You do recall a few years ago she was locked in a dungeon for an entire day? She's afraid of the dark, Maric, with good reason. Of course I held her hand."

"I remember. And that's exactly what I'm talking about. You're good to her, kind to her. You always have been. But there's more to it than that. You're different when she's around. You smile. You laugh. Far more often than you laugh when you're with me. Perhaps I'm just an unpleasant companion; well I'm certain I'm an unpleasant companion; I'm a complete idiot and a right bastard." This got a snort of laughter from Loghain. "But nevertheless it's clear to me you and Rhianna have . . . a connection. She understands you in ways I don't, even after all these years. And you understand her.

"Besides," he added, playing his last trump, "do you really want to think of her married to someone else? One of the Howe boys, or Timothy Wulff? Vaughan Kendalls, perhaps? Or someone from Antiva?" He paused. "Or Orlais?" Loghain flinched, and Maric paused to give the man time to fully consider that possibility.

Finally, Maric continued, "Because that's what's going to happen if you don't pull your head out of your arse and speak with Bryce. You should marry her."

"And you should mind your own damned business," Loghain replied, looking out across the meadow, not meeting Maric's gaze.

"You're my best friend, Loghain, and have been for nearly thirty years," Maric murmured. "I think that makes it my business."

Maric closed his eyes and ran a hand across his face, feeling suddenly tired.

"You know," he mused. "I think all three of us would have been happier if we'd done things . . . differently, all those years ago."

Loghain didn't ask what Maric had meant by that comment, nor did he make a reply.

Sighing, Maric took a long pull from the wine flask, and a silence stretched out between the two men until, finally, it was broken by Rhianna's voice ringing out across the clearing.

"Teyrn Loghain! You've got to come see this! You, too, King Maric! Hurry!"

•o•o•o•o•o•

Loghain's heart beat faster when he heard Rhianna shout, and he was on his feet in an instant. Then, he recognized excitement in her voice, rather than fear or panic or pain, and forced himself not to run to the other end of the meadow, but to walk alongside Maric.

Maric smirked, appearing highly amused by Loghain's quick response.

Damn the man, anyway. Maric was in the habit of saying stupid things - much like his son - but what he'd said this afternoon was beyond the pale. Reminding Rhianna of something she'd said when she was five years old, embarrassing her so much she'd gotten up and run away. And then having the gall to suggest Loghain should marry the girl. Maker's breath.

As if she'd meant anything by the proposal she'd made all those years ago. As if she'd meant what she'd said today about wanting to marry him. Of course she wanted to be a teyrna; that was the life she'd always known. And of course she wanted to stay in Ferelden. But she was twelve years old. Far too young to have any idea what marriage really entailed.

How could Maric possibly think it a good idea to speak with Bryce, to lock the girl into a marriage she would later come to dread? And how could Loghain even consider inflicting himself on her permanently? Rhianna deserved so much better.

Maric continued smiling his obnoxious smile all the way across the meadow. Loghain glared at him, but the king merely winked and hurried his pace, reaching Rhianna a few steps ahead of Loghain.

Rhianna stood on some rocks at the edge of the pond near the bottom of the waterfall. It was mostly dry where she stood, except for some spray from the cascading water. When Loghain and Maric got close enough, she pointed underneath the falls.

"I've found something!" She motioned for the two men to follow her, then stepped carefully along a narrow ledge of rock, slippery with water, but not directly in the stream of the waterfall. She entered a small cave not visible from the pond. There was barely enough room for all three of them, but Loghain and Maric squeezed in behind the girl to see what she found. Rhianna crouched near the ground, and used her hands to wipe a layer of mud off of something buried in the dirt.

"I think it's a chest of some sort," she explained. "Fergus and I have explored this cave dozens of times but we never found anything before."

Before Loghain could respond, Maric knelt in the mud, dirtying his trousers in the process, and helped her uncover the object. After digging around it with his fingers so the top few inches were exposed, Maric was able to free it from the hole.

It was indeed a chest, the size of a small loaf of bread, rectangular with an arched lid.

Maric turned it around in his hands. "This looks to me like it has been here for a very long time. Perhaps an animal was digging in this spot and pushed away enough dirt you were able to find it today?"

"But who buried it here? I didn't think anyone else knew about this place!" Rhianna exclaimed. "I've never seen anyone else here, other than Fergus. And the two of you are the first people I've ever brought here."

"Well," Loghain replied, "perhaps it's been here since before you and Fergus were even born."

"Then this might have been here a very long time," she murmured. "Do you think whoever buried it is dead?"

"Possibly." Loghain took the box from Maric and examined it. "It looks quite old."

"Does that mean we get to keep it? Because we're the ones who found it?" Rhianna voice sparkled with barely concealed hope.

"I should think so," Maric replied. "Finders, keepers, and all that. I say the box, and whatever is inside of it, belongs to you now, Rhianna."

Loghain attempted to pry open the lid with his fingers, but it was locked and wouldn't budge. He reached for the dagger he kept in his boot. "Shall I see if I can get it open?"

"With that?" she asked. "Won't the latch get broken?"

"Probably."

"Can't we just bring it back with us to the horses? I have lock picks in my saddlebag, and I might be able to get it open without breaking it."

"Lock picks?" Maric asked. "What on earth are you doing with lock picks? Don't tell me the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever intends to pursue a life of crime!"

"Of course not." She bit her lip. "Well, it's sort of a secret, really. Not many people know. Including my parents. I'm not sure they would approve."

"Well, I promise not to tell," Maric said amiably. Rhianna nodded without glancing at Loghain. Apparently, she didn't require an oath from him.

"About two years ago," Rhianna explained, "I managed to convince one of the blacksmiths in town to make me a set of lock picks and show me how to use them. I've been practicing ever since, and I can open most of the locks in the castle. The door to the vault is the only one I haven't been able to open. Well, and the door to my parents' room. But I've never tried to open that one." She paused. "It's not because I want to get into places I'm not supposed to go. I just like knowing how to get things open." She glanced at Loghain.

He completed her sentence in his head. . . . _in case I get locked in somewhere and need to get out. _

Loghain put away the dagger. "Very well. Let's take it with us, then."

By the time they'd packed up the remains of the picnic and hiked back to the horses, the shadows cast by the surrounding trees had grown long, and the sky was pink in the west.

"Perhaps we should start back for the castle," Rhianna suggested.

"Don't you want to open the box?" Maric asked.

"Yes . . . but even if we leave now, I don't think we'll make it back before dark. And I don't want my parents to be cross with us for coming back so late. We can always open the box at the castle."

"With everyone else around?" Maric asked. "Won't it be more fun if we do it now, just the three of us? Go on," he urged. "If we miss dinner, you can blame it on me, and I'll be the one to beg Nan to take pity on us. Besides having supper in the kitchen sounds rather good. We'd be able to avoid hearing Lady Harriet talk about all her cats." He winked at Rhianna, who giggled. Lady Harriet's cats were a rather infamous, and dreaded, topic of conversation at all the Denerim salons.

"Oh, all right." Grinning, Rhianna reached into her saddlebag and pulled out a small leather case containing several thin metal spikes, each shaped differently at the tip. She selected two of them, then lay on her stomach in front of the chest, so the lock was nearly at eye level. Inserting the tip of one pick into the hole of the lock, she wiggled it around before shifting it to one side. With a slow, deliberate movement, she slid the second pick in next to the first. She pulled up, and with a soft "click," the lid popped open.

She looked up at Loghain, a broad grin on her face. "I've done it!"

Maric gave Loghain a surprised glance, and crouched beside Rhianna as she sat up and opened the box.

It was dry inside and appeared to hold a trio of items. "There's a ring, some sort of an amulet, and a rolled up piece of parchment." Rhianna looked up into Maric's face. "Three things! And there are three of us. Which means we each get to choose one!"

"Don't you want to keep all of it?" Maric asked. "You found it, after all, and got the box open all by yourself."

She shook her head. "No, it's more fun if everyone gets something, don't you think?"

"Well, yes. That is what I think, as a matter of fact," Maric admitted. "You should at least be the first one to choose, yes?"

"All right." She reached into the chest. Loghain expected her to pull out the ring, but her hand went instead for the rolled-up parchment.

"I wonder what this is." She untied the leather thong holding it closed, and unrolled it gently. When it had been stretched out to full length, she gave a small gasp of pleasure. "Oh look! It's a map. At least I think it's a map." She lowered it, holding it parallel with the ground so everyone could see. "It's not like any map I've ever seen before. There are no mountains or coastlines, or roads between places. And it doesn't look like a city, either, with streets and districts. These parallel lines," she pointed," look a bit like roads, but they wind around so strangely. And there aren't any words at all, just tiny pictures where the names should be. I don't know what to think about it."

"A map," Maric exclaimed. "Well, hand it to Loghain, then. He has the biggest collection of maps I've ever seen."

Rhianna blinked up at the king, and then at Loghain. "You collect maps? I love maps. Sometimes Father lets me look at his, but I only have two of my very own. One of Ferelden and one of just the Coastlands. But I think they're fascinating, and so beautiful."

"I do collect maps," he confirmed. "I've loved maps as long as I can remember."

Maric made a noise, a sort of a snickering sound, and Loghain glanced at the other man.

"You both love maps? Isn't that interesting?" Maric gave Loghain a very self-satisfied smile.

Maker's breath. Of course the fact Loghain and Rhianna share an interest in maps would be taken by Maric as evidence Loghain should complicate his life, and ruin the rest of hers, by convincing Bryce to allow the two of them marry.

Loghain rolled his eyes at Maric, then took the parchment gently from the girl's hands. "This appears to be a map of the Deep Roads. Well, some section of them anyway. Perhaps one of the dwarven thaigs."

"Oh, so this shows things underground? That explains why it looks so strange, like tunnels. What's this?" Rhianna pointed at a mark, which didn't appear to be scribed in the same ink as the rest of the map.

"That, I don't know," Loghain admitted, handing the parchment back to the girl. "It looks like something drawn in after the original was completed."

"Perhaps it's a treasure map," Maric suggested, giving Rhianna a wink. "And that's the location where the treasure is buried!"

Rhianna laughed. "That would be exciting! But how will we find it, if we don't even know where underground to start looking? It would be so much nicer if there were words."

"Well," Maric replied, "you'll just have to hang onto it until you can find out. Maybe you'll recognize it on a larger map someday, and that will give you an idea where to look."

"Oh, but perhaps Teyrn Loghain should keep this." She rolled the parchment and retied the leather thong before offering it to him. "For your collection."

Loghain reached for the parchment, but didn't take it from her hand. "Only if you would rather have one of the other things. If you really want the map, you should keep it. I already have a collection, after all. Yours is just getting started. Besides I don't have any plans to visit the Deep Roads any time soon."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Are you sure, Teyrn Loghain? Because, you know, I don't have any plans to visit the Deep Roads anytime soon, either."

He laughed at that. "Yes, I'm sure."

She pulled her hand back, and set the parchment carefully in her lap. "Thank you," she smiled. Then she reached into the chest again, pulling out the other two items.

She examined them both, then held them up for inspection by Maric and Loghain. "There's an amulet, and a ring. The amulet is rather ugly, but the ring is nice."

"An ugly amulet, you say? Let's have a look at that." Maric held out his hand, and Rhianna gave him the pendant. "If I had to guess," Maric speculated, "this looks Avvarian. Don't they have a god who is a trickster?"

"Imhar the Clever." Loghain took the amulet from Maric and studied it, turning it over in his hands.

On the amulet's face was a figure carved in bas-relief, its design slightly raised above the background: a grotesque little man with a large head and an exaggerated smile. He appeared to be doing some sort of dance – one leg bent at the knee, and the other kicking up in the air.

"Well, if you don't mind old friend, I think I'll claim this one." Grinning, Maric plucked the amulet from Loghain's hands. "It might be ugly, but there is something about it I find compelling. Certainly, any help I can get from a deity called 'the Clever' will be much appreciated."

"That much goes without saying." Loghain didn't even pretend to smile, still angry about Maric's earlier behavior. He turned to Rhianna, softening his expression for her benefit. "So, what does that leave for me?"

'This." She held out her hand, with the ring in the center of her palm. "It's really lovely," she said. "And isn't that a dragon? Just like your device, right?"

He took the ring, examining it in the fading daylight. It was beautifully crafted, its silver band worked into the shape of a dragon, with a circular red stone set between the dragon's claws, as if the creature were clutching the gem. It was a gorgeous piece of jewelry.

"Yes. The symbol of Gwaren is a wyvern." He turned the ring around in his hands. Rhianna really should have it; it was lovely, but he had no use for it. She should have the map, too, if she wanted them both.

"Let me have a look, Loghain," Maric asked, gesturing for Loghain to hand him the ring. Loghain complied, and the king turned it around in his fingers. "What kind of stone is that? A garnet, I think. Are you sure," he asked Rhianna, "you wouldn't rather have this, instead of that musty old bit of parchment? It looks a lot more valuable, and it's much prettier."

Loghain scowled at his friend, not really annoyed by what Maric had said - he agreed with him about the ring - but still annoyed with him in general, and his seeming belief he could just decide things for people, without asking them what they wanted.

"Am I to have no say in this at all?" Loghain muttered.

"Rhianna found the chest," Maric argued. "She gets to choose first, remember? If she wants the ring, she should have it." He grinned. "But don't think that means I'd be willing to give up the amulet. Just so we're clear."

"I like the map," Rhianna replied. "And Teyrn Loghain should keep the ring." She turned to Loghain. "Unless you really don't like it and would rather have the map? That would be all right with me, too."

She smiled up at him, an open, generous smile. Putting his happiness ahead of her own, as she so often did. Maker's breath, but she really was a lovely girl.

Far too lovely to end up married to a jaded, bitter old wretch like himself.

One thing was clear: she really did want the map. It certainly made no difference to him. He'd be happy for her to have all of it, if she'd wanted, but he suspected if he tried to get her to take both items, she would argue. So he slid the ring onto the pinky of his left hand. "Look at that," he said, holding out his hand. "Believe it or not, it fits perfectly. I'll keep the ring, and you have the map for your collection. Of course, it's still not too late for you to decide that you'd like to keep everything we found in the chest. It was your discovery, after all."

"What are you saying, Loghain? It is far too late for that." Maric slipped the amulet's leather cord over his head. "I'm not giving this back. Sorry, my dear," he said to Rhianna. "It suits me far too well, don't you think?" It really was hideous, and Rhianna laughed as the king posed flamboyantly with the amulet around his neck, and then kicked one leg up in imitation of the dance the figure was performing. "If Loghain wants to give you the ring, though, I suppose I wouldn't have a problem with that."

Rhianna giggled. "I don't want to keep everything. As it is, I'm getting something extra, because I get to keep the chest. I think it will be quite pretty after I clean it."

The sun had just set below the hills to the west, and the light was fading quickly. After securing the lunch basket and the chest to Rhianna's saddle, the trio mounted their horses and headed back down the foothills. By the time they'd reached the plains, the moon – one day shy of being full – had risen, and lit the way more than adequately for them to travel without torches.

As they rode, Maric and Rhianna chatted amiably while Loghain remained mostly silent, still harboring some anger at Maric. Thankfully, it seemed the girl had forgotten her embarrassment at Maric's ridiculous behavior.

Even so, Maric hadn't heard the end of this. When they had a few moments in private, Loghain intended to give the king a piece of his mind.

•o•


	16. The Custodians of the Wolves

**_29 Drakonis, 9:25 Dragon  
_****_Highever Castle_**

•o•

Rhianna, Loghain and Maric were about half an hour away from the castle when a figure on horseback galloped toward them from the direction of Highever. When the rider came close enough to pull up his mount in front of them, Rhianna saw it was one of the Highever knights, Ser Gilmore, a rather handsome red-headed lad, who had only recently come into her father's service.

"There you are, my lady." He sounded rather more relieved than the situation seemed to warrant. "Your father sent several of us out to look for you. He was worried when you hadn't arrived home by dark."

"We're fine, Ser Gilmore," Rhianna replied. "But thank you, for coming to find us." It seemed strange her parents had sent knights out after her; it wasn't unusual for her to return home after dark. Maybe her mother just wanted to make sure she got a good night's sleep before the performance tomorrow. Or maybe it was because King Maric was with her?

"It was my pleasure, my lady," he assured her. "Perhaps you would allow me to accompany you back to the castle?" Turning to the king and Loghain, he added, "So long as it meets with your approval, Your Majesty, Your Grace?"

"Of course," King Maric replied. "We would be glad of your company, Ser Gilmore."

"I don't recall seeing you here before," Loghain said conversationally as they continued toward the castle. "Are you new to Highever?"

"That I am," the young man affirmed. "I've only recently received my accolade, and was fortunate to be accepted into the service of Teyrn Cousland. I'm originally from Starkhaven, and arrived in Highever at Wintersend."

The trio, now a quartet, soon arrived back at the castle. For once Loghain and Rhianna, who were both in the habit of tending to their own horses, allowed their mounts to be led away by stable hands, due to the late hour.

"What will you wager," Maric whispered loudly as they approached the castle's main hall, "we've missed supper?"

"Nothing. I don't want to lose any money," Rhianna giggled. Her smile faded, though, when they entered the hall to see her father pacing the floor, her mother sitting by the fire while Lady Landra held one of her hands, and Arl Howe and most of the other guests looking on with somber faces.

"Pup! There you are!" Her father hurried up to her, with Eleanor close behind, and grasped Rhianna firmly by the shoulders. He glanced at her muddy clothing, then searched her face as if looking for injuries.

"I'm sorry we're late, Father. After the ruins, we went swimming in the foothills, and then I found a sort of treasure chest, and lost track of the time."

"It's . . . it's all right, of course. I'm just . . . glad that you're home." He gave her a tight smile that didn't reach all the way to his eyes. It was almost as though he wasn't convinced she was really all right. "You're sure nothing . . . unusual happened?"

"No, nothing at all," she reassured. "It was a lovely day. One of the best days ever. Besides, you had no reason to worry. I was with Teyrn Loghain and King Maric," she grinned. "They drove the Orlesians out of Ferelden. Surely they can be trusted to keep one small girl safe."

Rendon Howe strode up and stood beside Bryce. "Did you ever stop to consider perhaps it wasn't your safety that was of concern?" The smile slipped from Rhianna's face as she looked up at the Arl of Amaranthine. "You do realize," he continued, "one of the people you kept out so ridiculously late happens to be the King of Ferelden. Who also happens to be rather more important than you are."

Rhianna's breath caught in her chest, and the heat behind her eyes that meant tears were threatening. Holding her breath, she willed herself not to cry. She would not allow Arl Howe to see her cry. No matter how mean he was, she would _not_ allow him to see her cry. Not ever.

Someone nearby snickered, almost certainly Habren, and Loghain came up behind Rhianna and put a hand on her shoulder, while King Maric stepped close beside her.

"There's no call for speaking to the girl like that, Rendon." Maric's tone was sharp. "I take full responsibility for the lateness of our arrival. Rhianna tried to get us to head for home sooner, but I was enjoying myself, and wasn't ready to return to the castle. She could hardly argue with me; I am, after all, the King of Ferelden." Maric raised an eyebrow, as if daring Howe to challenge him on this point. "And certainly her logic is still sound, even if I was the focus of your concern. I was with Loghain Mac Tir, widely acknowledged as the best swordsman Ferelden has seen in recent years. I should hope even you will admit Loghain has proven many times over his ability to keep me in one piece. And we were in no danger of becoming lost. Lady Cousland is an experienced guide who knows the countryside around Highever as well as anyone has ever known it."

"Of course, Your Majesty." Howe said smoothly. "I didn't mean to suggest you were unprotected. Even so," he glanced at Eleanor, "if she were my daughter, she'd be going to bed without supper."

"That won't be necessary," Eleanor said tightly. "Although, speaking of supper," the teyrna turned to address King Maric, "I'm afraid the rest of us have already had our evening meal."

"Please don't apologize, Eleanor," Maric assured her. "We will be more than happy with any scraps that can be thrown together in the kitchen. I even promised Rhianna I would throw myself on Nan's mercy, since it is my fault that we were late." He turned to Rhianna, making a show of offering her his arm. "If you'll lead the way to the kitchen, my lady?"

"Of course, Your Majesty." Feeling her cheeks grow warm, but this time from pleasure, she slid her arm through the king's. With Loghain at her other side, the three companions left the great hall, and Rhianna led them up the corridor to the kitchen.

They arrived in the kitchen to find Nan flustered and grumbling under her breath, but within minutes she had produced an amazing spread. She claimed it was nothing more than scraps she had "laying around:" half a ham, roasted potatoes, mushroom and onion pasties, a beef pudding, braised greens, and an apple and pear pie for dessert. Rhianna suspected the cook had been preparing for their arrival for some time. Rhianna and Loghain, and Maric in particular were effusive in their praise, both of the evening meal and of the generous basket Nan had prepared earlier in the day, and when she left the kitchen, she was blushing, muttering she was, "more than happy to have done a good turn for the king."

Rhianna ate as well as she'd ever eaten in her life, and King Maric and Loghain both seemed in good spirits. She quickly pushed Howe's horrible comments from her mind, and enjoyed the conversation, which centered on all the adventures they had that day, how fortunate Rhianna was to have survived Loghain's wrath after splashing him in the pond, and how very happy they all were to have avoided hearing Lady Harriet talk about her feline companions. Thankfully, the king didn't bring up the subject of marriage again; she'd seen how unhappy Loghain had seemed when Maric had mentioned it.

•o•o•o•o•o•

The sound of laughter greeted Eleanor when she approached the kitchen in search of her daughter. At the large wooden table in the center of the room, Rhianna sat beside Loghain, and both of them were laughing at something Maric had said from across the table. It appeared they had finished their meal, and were just talking together amiably.

"Hello, Mother!" Rhianna beamed, as Eleanor entered the room and put a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

"Hello, darling. I trust the three of you had a good day?" Eleanor asked.

"Oh yes!" Rhianna exclaimed. "We went to the ruins, and found a strange room beneath the ground, and then we went to see the sea lions, and the standing stones, and then I took King Maric and Teyrn Loghain swimming, and I found a chest in the cave behind the waterfall, and it was filled with actual buried treasure!" Rhianna took a much-needed breath. "It was the best day ever!"

Maric laughed. "That was a very concise telling of events, Rhianna. And I think you're right; it was the best day ever, wasn't it?"

"Yes," Loghain agreed. "I believe it was, at that."

"What's this about buried treasure?" Eleanor asked. "And an underground room at the ruins?"

"I'm not making it up," Rhianna assured her. "We found a little chest buried in the cave behind the waterfall. Fergus and I have looked there dozens of times, but never found anything before. And there were wonderful things inside. I decided to keep the map, which Teyrn Loghain said shows part of the Deep Roads." Then she reached over and grabbed Loghain's wrist, holding his hand up for her mother's inspection. "And look at this. Isn't it a beautiful ring? This was in the chest as well. It's even got a dragon on it, just like the Gwaren device. King Maric and Teyrn Loghain tried to convince me to keep it for myself, but I liked the map best. For my collection."

As she lowered Loghain's arm to rest on the table again, rather than releasing her grip, she just shifted her fingers so she could hold his hand; judging by the man's expression, he seemed not to be bothered by any of this. Rhianna pointed across the table at Maric. "And King Maric is wearing his horrible amulet. It's the most hideous thing ever, but he seems to like it. Which makes me wonder about him, a bit," she added slyly.

"Rhianna!" her mother chided, although not with much force. The girl was quite familiar, sometimes even cheeky, with Loghain and Maric, and both men seemed to enjoy it. Ever since Rhianna had been so sick with the plague, they had paid special attention to her; Rhianna had spent a good deal of time with the king, and even more with Teyrn Loghain, who visited rather more often. What seemed to have started as . . . well, Eleanor wasn't sure how it had started. Pity? An attempt to cheer the girl after her illness? Regardless of how it had started, now it seemed the three simply enjoyed one another's company, enjoyed going on adventures together. If neither man minded Rhianna's familiarity, Eleanor could see no reason for concern. Surely, a good relationship with two of the most powerful men in Ferelden could only benefit her daughter, now and in the future.

Maric threw up his hands dramatically. "Oh believe me, Eleanor, that's hardly the worst thing said to me today. The two of them," he pointed at Loghain and Rhianna, "ganged up on me more times than I can count. But it's all right. It's all right. You don't get far being the king without developing a thick skin. And besides, it's obvious to me there is something wrong with your daughter's eyesight. Not only does she seem to like Loghain more than she likes me, but just look at this. It's not horrible at all. I think it's one of the most charming things I've ever seen."

Maric lifted the amulet and held it up for Eleanor to see. The teyrna's brow wrinkled as she looked at the carving, an ugly little man cavorting about in some strange dance.

Rhianna giggled. "You see, Mother. There's nothing wrong with my eyesight. It really is the ugliest thing ever."

"I am sorry, Your Majesty," Eleanor apologized, "but I'm afraid I have to agree with my daughter. It's . . . well, it's definitely unusual. I'll grant you that much."

"Oh. Fine," Maric replied. "I see now you're ganging up on me as well." He sat back, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Then he glanced over at Rhianna, and winked.

"Don't get your feelings hurt, Your Majesty," Rhianna said with a giggle. "We still love you, even if you have bad taste in amulets." She covered her mouth with one of her hands, trying to stifle a yawn.

"Yes," Eleanor said, putting her hand on Rhianna's shoulder once again. "Well, I'm afraid to say it's time for someone here to get to bed. You have a very big day tomorrow, darling."

"All right, Mother." She sounded only a little bit disappointed as she got to her feet. Clearly, the day's adventures had been tiring. To Maric and Loghain she added, "Thank you again, both of you, for such a wonderful day." She leaned in and kissed Loghain on the cheek and then, after a moment's hesitation, walked to the other side of the table and did the same to Maric.

"No, Rhianna, thank you." Maric smiled broadly. "You always take us on the very best adventures."

"Good night, Rhianna," Loghain said. "We'll see you tomorrow."

As soon as they were away from the kitchen, Rhianna turned to her mother, with a slightly sheepish expression. "Am I in trouble?" she asked. "For getting the king and the teyrn home so late?"

Eleanor looked at her through narrowed eyes. "Should you be in trouble? King Maric said it was his fault. Surely he wasn't lying?"

"No, he wasn't lying," Rhianna replied. "It was his idea to stay out later even when I said we should go. But," she admitted, "I didn't try very hard to convince him, because I really did want to stay out, too. We were having such a good time, and I wanted to see what was inside the treasure chest. So, we opened it up before we started riding back."

Eleanor smiled at her daughter's honesty. She really was a good girl. "No, you're not in any trouble. If it happens again, though, I might have to make certain King Maric is sent to bed without supper."

This made Rhianna giggle, and as they walked through the castle toward the family's quarters, Rhianna chattered cheerfully about the day's events. Thank the Maker; it seemed Rhianna hadn't taken Howe's mean-spirited comments to heart. Damn the man, anyway, for jumping on her the way he did.

In truth, Eleanor had been prepared to punish her daughter. Not that it was unusual for Rhianna to come home after dark; she often got so caught up in what she was doing she didn't remember to turn back for home before nightfall. After what had happened in Denerim four years ago, this was rather nerve-wracking for Eleanor and Bryce, worrying something had happened to their daughter. But they both agreed Rhianna should have as much freedom as possible, rather than keeping her on so tight a leash she would grow up fearful, and believe her parents didn't trust her to take care of herself. This was Highever, after all, not Denerim; they had always believed Rhianna was unlikely to encounter anything dangerous here, especially out in the woods where she preferred to play. So, Eleanor and Bryce had insisted Rhianna always carry torches in her pack, and then looked the other way when she returned to the castle after sunset.

Even so, the girl should have known better than to keep King Maric out so late, especially during Festival Week, when the castle was filled with guests and activity, and people were bound to worry.

And tonight, especially, there had been good reasons for being worried.

Not long after Rhianna left the castle with Maric and Loghain, Bryce had a visit from Ser Torvik, the captain of the Highever guard. A man had been murdered at a local tavern the night before, and the circumstances were unusual enough the guard captain felt Bryce should be aware of what had happened.

As if that weren't bad enough, just a few hours ago Eleanor discovered something in the family's private quarters. Something . . . terrifying. Something that brought back horrible memories of the day Rhianna had disappeared. So when the girl hadn't returned by nightfall, it had been impossible for Eleanor to avoid thinking the worst. No matter how many times she reminded herself it really wasn't all that late, and Rhianna was in the habit of coming home after dark, Eleanor had been on the verge of panic. The only thing that reassured her at all was the fact Rhianna was with Loghain Mac Tir, the one man in all the world, other than Bryce, Eleanor trusted completely with her daughter's safety. Loghain would never allow any harm to come to Rhianna.

And of course, Rhianna had no way of knowing her parents had reason to fear for her safety. So when the three companions arrived back at the castle, and the king had claimed full responsibility for being late, Eleanor - so relieved she nearly burst into tears - could see no possible reason for punishing her daughter.

Then Howe made his hateful comment. Even if Eleanor had been inclined to punish Rhianna, she would have changed her mind after the way Howe spoke to the girl. Perhaps it was self-centered for Rhianna to assume people had only been worried about her, even if it was true in this case. Even so, there was no call to be nasty about it.

Eleanor had long wondered why Rendon Howe seemed to dislike Rhianna so intensely. Rendon and Bryce were good friends, but when it came to Rhianna, Howe never had anything good to say, and was often critical of her. In little ways, perhaps, but quite persistently critical. She supposed it all stemmed from that Satinalia years ago when Rhianna had broken Thomas' nose. With good cause, but Howe seemed to ignore that point. The truly baffling thing was the amount of energy the man put into trying to convince Bryce Rhianna should marry one of his sons. Why would he want a girl he seemed to dislike so much as his daughter-in-law?

Eleanor glanced at her daughter, who was speaking with such animation it was almost hard to keep up. "I splashed him again, and for a moment he glared at me so hard I thought he was really angry. But then he told me to swim away, and he chased me, and before I could get out of the water he grabbed me and threw me back into the pond, and it was so much fun! They wouldn't jump off the waterfall with me, though, which is a shame. But I jumped off anyway, at least a dozen times."

Judging by Rhianna's good mood, it seemed Howe's nasty comments had been forgotten.

Suddenly, Rhianna stopped walking and grasped her mother's arm. "Mother, it is true I once asked Teyrn Loghain to marry me?"

"What?" Eleanor asked. "Where did this come from?"

"King Maric said when I was five years old, I asked Teyrn Loghain if he would marry me when I grew up. I don't remember anything about it, though. Was he telling the truth, or is that just a story he made up?"

"Well, I wasn't there to hear the actual conversation, darling. But according to your father, yes. You did say something to Teyrn Loghain about getting married when you were older."

"Oh." Rhianna's brow knit together, as a troubled look crossed her face. "I was hoping it was just a story. It seems such a stupid thing for me to have said, doesn't it?"

"I wouldn't say it was stupid. You were very young, and small children often say things that might sound strange coming from someone a bit older. I'm sure no one thought badly of you because of it."

"Not even Teyrn Loghain? You don't think he thinks badly of me, do you?"

"Rhianna, did something happen today? Some reason you think the teyrn is upset with you?" He hadn't seemed upset. If anything, he'd seemed quite content to hold Rhianna's hand at the table, and had agreed they'd had a lovely day together.

"Oh no!" she replied. "Nothing like that. Teyrn Loghain was wonderful today. We had so much fun! I was just worried, when King Maric told me what I'd said all those years ago, that the teyrn might have thought I was incredibly stupid."

Eleanor smoothed a hand over her daughter's hair. "I wouldn't worry about it if I were you, love. It's obvious to me Maric and Loghain are both very fond of you, and don't think badly of you for anything you've said, ever."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes, I really think so."

•o•o•o•o•o•

When they arrived at Rhianna's room, they found Delilah Howe already dressed for bed. Delilah was sleeping with Rhianna due to the overcrowding in the castle, but Rhianna didn't mind. Delilah had always been one of the few people Rhianna's age who had been consistently kind. Not like her little brother Thomas, or stupid Habren.

After helping Rhianna into her nightgown, Eleanor tucked the girls into bed, giving them both a quick kiss on the forehead.

"Now, I want the two of you to go right to sleep." she admonished. "No staying up all hours talking. Tomorrow will be a big day, especially for you, Rhianna."

"Yes, Mother."

"Yes, Teyrna Eleanor."

Once Eleanor had left the room, and her footsteps faded away in the hall, Rhianna and Delilah looked at one another in the light of the dying fire in the hearth, and started to giggle. Of course they weren't going to sleep right away, not when there were such interesting things to talk about.

"Did you have a good day today?" Delilah whispered. "Riding with King Maric and Teyrn Loghain?"

"Yes, it was wonderful! We went riding, and swimming, and hiking, and found some buried treasure, and a horrible scary old room under the ruins. It was a lot of fun. What about you? Did you have a good time sailing?"

"Oh yes, it was good," Delilah replied. "The weather was lovely, and we saw dolphins. A lot of dolphins and even a whale! And we stopped at an island out in the bay, and had a lovely picnic. Your brother even let me steer the boat for a while."

"And what about Habren?" Rhianna asked.

"Well, of course, she was awful, as usual," Delilah said with a shrug. "She kept flirting with my brother."

"With Thomas?"

"No, of course not with Thomas. With Nathaniel."

"Oh. Did he flirt back?"

"No. Nathaniel knows Habren isn't at all nice. I mean, he's polite to her. He's polite to everyone, most of the time. But she could tell he didn't like her, and I think it made her quite grumpy."

"I wouldn't have minded seeing that," Rhianna giggled. "Then again, she's even meaner than usual when she's grumpy, so I suppose I'm glad I wasn't there to see it. She probably would have tried to push me off the boat, or something."

"Probably," Delilah agreed. "Anyway, aren't you glad you didn't come with us? I mean, you're so incredibly lucky. Getting to spend the entire day with the king. Isn't he so handsome?"

Rhianna wrinkled her nose. "He's all right, I guess. Not anywhere near as handsome as Teyrn Loghain, though."

"Teyrn Loghain? You think he's handsome?"

"Of course! Don't you?" Rhianna asked, astonished there might be someone who didn't think Loghain was the handsomest man that had ever lived.

"No," Delilah laughed, "Not really. He looks rather too much like Nathaniel."

"Oh, please don't talk about Nathaniel. You'd be the third person today to mention him to me! I think everyone in the world wants me to marry him."

"Really? People have been talking to you about Nathaniel? Well, honestly, I think it would be lovely if you married Nathaniel. Then you and I would be sisters, and wouldn't that be fun? And you could come live in Amaranthine, which isn't so very far away from Highever after all."

"Can you keep a secret?" Rhianna whispered, sitting up on one elbow so she could look into Delilah's face.

"Of course I can!"

"I'd much rather marry Teyrn Loghain. And not because he's a teyrn, but because I think he's the handsomest, kindest, bravest, most wonderful man in the whole entire world." Rhianna flopped down onto her back, smiling, remembering how he had held her hand when they went down into the tunnel underneath the ruins.

"I wouldn't mind marrying King Maric, if you want to know the truth," Delilah admitted. "Partly because he's the king, of course. Can you imagine how happy my father would be if I were to marry the king?" Rhianna nodded agreeably. She guessed that would make Arl Howe very happy indeed. "But mostly because he is very, very handsome."

"I think King Maric would be good husband," Rhianna replied. "He's very nice, and funny. He made me laugh at least a hundred times today. And he is handsome. Even handsomer than Cailan, I think. And, being married to the king, probably no one would ever be mean to you. Did you see how he stood up for me tonight when Arl . . . um, when your father . . . well . . ." She didn't know how to finish that sentence. He was Delilah's father, after all.

"Father was horrible to you, wasn't he?" Delilah said comfortingly. "I'm sorry about that. But you're right, King Maric was lovely, coming to your rescue. I know. Let's make a plan. I'll marry King Maric, and you'll marry Teyrn Loghain, and our children can be best friends, just like Cailan and Anora are now!"

Rhianna nodded her head enthusiastically. "Yes. That sounds like a very good plan."

If only she could get Teyrn Loghain to agree.

Of course, she was much too young to be interesting to Teyrn Loghain right now. She knew that. But someday, when she was bigger, she hoped she would be smart enough and brave enough and pretty enough and fight well enough that he would like her. Maybe even like her well enough to want to marry her.

It didn't seem like such a far-fetched idea. He was a teyrn, and she was the daughter of a teyrn, after all. But she certainly didn't want to do or say anything that would make Teyrn Loghain think she was stupid, or ridiculous, or silly. So when Maric had reminded them about Rhianna's marriage proposal all those years ago, she had wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. It was bad enough she'd said something so stupid when she was small, but it was far worse that King Maric would mention it now, when Loghain might already have forgotten.

She'd been so incredibly embarrassed, and she'd felt her face turn hot. Even now, thinking about it made her stomach feel strange. She did the only thing she could think of to do, and ran to the opposite end of the meadow, hoping by the time she came back, Teyrn Loghain would have forgotten all about it again. And then she'd found the treasure chest, and everything was all right after that. King Maric hadn't mentioned it again, thankfully, and Teyrn Loghain hadn't seemed angry, or treated her any differently than usual. He'd been as kind to her as ever, even if he had seemed a bit cross with King Maric all the way home.

Still, what if Teyrn Loghain really did think she was ridiculous and incredibly stupid, but was just too kind to tell her so? Usually, Teyrn Loghain didn't hesitate in telling people they were ridiculous and stupid, though, so maybe he didn't feel that way after all? And her mother had promised Teyrn Loghain was fond of her, and Delilah seemed to think marrying him was a good idea. So maybe, just maybe, there really was a chance it could happen.

Rhianna Mac Tir.

Oh, she hoped so much someday it could happen.

She said goodnight to Delilah, then closed her eyes and snuggled herself against the pillow, feeling happy. Because, embarrassment aside, it had been a lovely, lovely day, and the next few days would be lovely as well.

Because Teyrn Loghain was here, and she'd get to see him every single one of those days.

•o•o•o•o•o•

After most of the company turned in for the night, a small group gathered near the waning fire in the great hall to discuss the incident that had all of Highever talking. The heat from the fire was making Bryce uncomfortably warm, but he was too exhausted to move further from the hearth. It had been a trying day, ever since Torvik arrived with news of the murder in town. But the evening had been far worse, from the time Eleanor made her discovery until Rhianna, Maric and Loghain returned to the castle. Bryce had tried to appear calm, more for Eleanor's sake than his own, but he spent every minute of those few hours worrying something had happened to his daughter. That she'd been kidnapped, perhaps by the same person who locked her away in that tower four years ago. Worrying that this time, she would not be found in time. Maybe not found at all.

He had always believed his family was safe here in Highever. After today, however, it no longer seemed a certainty. And he hadn't even shared with the others the discovery that set him on edge. All they knew about was the murder.

"When did this happen again?" Maric asked, fine lines wrinkling his brow.

"Sometime last night, most likely," Bryce explained. "A group of travelers found the body in the basement of the Drunken Wolf Inn this morning. They claim to have had some business with the man - something about a package they were delivering, or picking up, for a traveling merchant. They were a bit cagey, something that will need to be investigated. Anyway, the dead man had been . . . mutilated, apparently. I haven't seen the body, but from what I've heard, he appears to have been ravaged by some sort of wild animal."

"In the basement of a tavern?" Leonas Bryland asked. "How did he manage to get attacked by wild animals in the basement of a tavern?"

"Well, that's the mystery isn't it?" Eleanor sounded even more tired than Bryce felt. "Farr - that was the man's name - was the owner of the tavern, which explains why he was there. But wild animals?" She sighed. "Rhianna's going to be heartbroken when she hears about this. She knew him quite well, I think."

"Your daughter was acquainted with the tavern keeper who was murdered?" Bann Esmerelle asked, a sneer crossing her pinched face. "A tavern keeper? Just what sort of company do you allow the girl to keep?"

"Rhianna knows just about everyone in town." Bryce was proud of the way Rhianna was accepted by the people from the village, and resented the implication it was anything other than good. "Eleanor and I have always encouraged it. The local people like her, and trust her to listen to their concerns, even to intervene with the teyrn if necessary when they have problems. So, they come to her instead of starting trouble; it's been a great asset to the teyrnir."

Esmerelle shrugged, clearly not convinced, but at least the woman remained quiet.

"What sort of 'wild animals' are suspected," Maric asked.

"Something large, with sharp claws and teeth," Bryce replied. "The man was literally torn limb from limb, so it had to be something powerful. A bear. A pack of wolves, perhaps."

"Wolves." Maric glanced at Loghain, before turning back to Bryce. "That reminds me of something we saw today. Did you know there's a hidden trapdoor under the ground floor of those Alamarri ruins Rhianna showed us today?"

"Hidden trapdoor? No, I don't know anything about that."

"Well, there is," Maric affirmed. "Underneath what looked like a gaol cell is a flight of stairs and an underground passage that dead ends at a stone wall. Only it isn't really a dead end. There's a trigger in one of the stones, which opens up a section of the wall leading to a hidden chamber."

"Are you joking?" Bryce asked. "I've lived most of my life in Highever. I've been to those ruins a dozen times, and I had no idea about some sort of hidden chamber."

"No joke," the king confirmed. "It was quite a surprise; Rhianna hadn't known about it either. Of course, we explored around inside, and found a fire pit, and a set of drawings on the walls. If I had to guess, I'd say the drawings told a story about humans turning into . . . well . . . into werewolves."

"Werewolves?" Leonas laughed. "This sounds like a bedtime story, Maric. Not anything that will help us solve a murder."

"There's more to it than that." Loghain, who'd been silent until now, immediately commanded everyone's attention. "There were footprints. Human, as well as animal tracks, on the dirt floor of the room. Very unusual, similar to wolf tracks, but not like any wolf tracks I've ever seen. Rhianna told us there are still rumors of werewolves in the Coastlands?"

"Rumors of werewolves?" Howe laughed. "More like the imagination of a very spirited child. There haven't been werewolves in the Coastlands since the Blessed Age. None I've seen, anyway. That girl will say just about anything for attention."

"There are rumors, Rendon. You know that as well as I do, and Rhianna is certainly not the one who started them." Bryce was beginning to tire of these verbal attacks on his daughter. Especially tonight. "There are at least a few people who believe werewolves still exist in the area." He raised his eyebrows at his friend. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Yes, yes," Howe sighed impatiently. "The 'Custodians of the Wolves.' And you know as well as I do, Bryce, all of them were killed before the start of the Occupation. Along with the werewolves."

"Custodians of the Wolves?" Maric asked. "Who are they? Some sort of organization?"

"Yes," Bryce explained. "The Custodians were formed centuries ago, before Haelia convinced the Coastlands to join together in the fight against the werewolves. Most of the original members were family or friends of those who had been infected. Even as the werewolves were being hunted, the Custodians were working to protect them from what they considered 'persecution.' After all, most of the werewolves had been innocent villagers themselves, before being infected."

Bryce leaned back in his seat. "I do sympathize with what the Custodians were trying to do. But the werewolves were wreaking havoc on the people of the Coastlands, and had to be stopped. Even after Haelia vanquished most of the creatures, the Custodians didn't disband. Instead, they helped shelter the remaining werewolves, and continued to work against those they considered responsible for the torment of their loved ones. Including the Cousland family.

"According to family legend, the Custodians have existed all along, working in secret for years and years, and then every so often coming out of hiding to exact revenge on behalf of their ancestors. Even though by now it seems horribly pointless. All the people involved in persecuting werewolves are long dead. And it's true they haven't acted publicly in a great many years, since just before the start of the Occupation." He turned to Howe. "But that doesn't convince me they're all gone."

"I got the feeling the room we found was some sort of . . . shrine, or perhaps a meeting place. Maybe that's connected to these Custodians, as well," Maric added.

"And a man was torn apart by wild animals," Loghain mused. "Or perhaps it was the Custodians attempting to make it look like werewolves?"

"It's possible," Bryce admitted. "In the past, the Custodians were accused of committing murders designed to look like werewolf attacks. Or maybe they were actual werewolf attacks, assuming some of the creatures survived in hiding."

"Which," Loghain added, "would also make it possible the tavern keeper was killed by an actual werewolf."

Maric leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "Based on those tracks we saw today, I'm willing to entertain the possibility there are indeed real werewolves running around out there. And by 'out there,' I mean uncomfortably close to _here_. This tavern keeper, do you think he had any connection with the Custodians? Is there anything - other than the manner of his death - to connect him with any of this?"

Eleanor shook her head. "No. Not as far as we know. Of course, the murder only happened last night, and since most everyone believes the Custodians and the werewolves are ancient history, it probably hasn't been the focus of the investigation. I suppose a tavern keeper knows just about everyone in town, which makes it possible he stumbled across some information that put him in danger. I wish we knew more. After all," Eleanor caught Bryce's gaze, "if it is the Custodians, and they intend to make some sort of . . . stand, doing it during the Festival of Wolves would be appropriate. The festival where our daughter will perform tomorrow night."

"Nothing is going to happen at the festival tomorrow, Eleanor." Bryce tried to sound reassuring, but even to his own ears, failed miserably. "Hundreds of people are going to be in the village square. It will be far too crowded for any werewolf supporters to try and make a stand. Even so, I'm going to request a full company of Highever Regulars be on hand. For our peace of mind, if nothing else."

"An entire company? Surely, that won't be necessary," Howe scoffed. "I find it hard to believe, even if these Custodians still exist, they have anything approaching numbers adequate to make an attack during the festival. Are you sure this isn't just you being overprotective of your daughter? Again?"

"_Surely_," Loghain interjected, before Bryce could respond, "you can't blame the man for wanting to ensure his daughter's safety. Especially after what happened in Denerim a few years ago."

"Something happened in Denerim?" Howe wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "You mean that business in the tower. Of course. Well, yes, that must have been unpleasant for her at the time, but I haven't seen any sign she even remembers that day, let alone suffers any ill effects from it."

"She remembers." Loghain's eyes narrowed as he stared at Howe. "Believe me, she remembers. And if there is anything that can be done to ensure her safety tomorrow - and the safety of everyone else at the festival - it would be negligent not to take the necessary precautions. One man is dead already."

"There's even more to it than that." Something in Eleanor's tone caught the attention of everyone in the room. Her face was pale, her eyes bright. Clearly, she was nowhere near confident that Rhianna would be safe tomorrow night. "Show them, Bryce. Show them what I found earlier this evening."

This was a surprise. When they had discussed it earlier, Eleanor had agreed it might be best not to share this with the rest of the group. Not to worry people unnecessarily. Apparently, she had changed her mind. Perhaps she was right, and the others deserved to know that someone in Highever - someone who was perhaps still in the castle - could not be trusted.

He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. It was folded in half, and he didn't bother to unfold it before handing it to Loghain. He would prefer his eyes to never land upon those words again. Not ever again. "Eleanor found this a few hours ago, here in the castle."

Loghain unfolded the paper, and Maric leaned in to read it over the teyrn's shoulder.

Of course, even without looking, Bryce remembered what it said. Words scrawled on parchment in a dark substance that looked like blood. The message was brief, but to the point:

_"Death to the Cousland Whore"_

As Loghain's eyes took in the words, one of his hands clenched into a fist. Maric took the note, reading it again with a look of confusion on his face, as if perhaps he'd misunderstood it the first time through.

"Maker's Breath," Maric breathed, passing the note to Bann Esmerelle, who glanced at it before handing it to Arl Bryland. "That's . . . disturbing."

"Where did you find this?" Loghain asked darkly.

"On Rhianna's bedroom door," Eleanor replied. "Stuck to the door with a dagger."

"You should cancel the performance tomorrow," Leonas urged. "Exposing the girl to that many people, when someone has made a threat like this against her? That doesn't sound like a good idea."

"No, I'm not going to cancel the performance," Bryce replied. "That was my first thought, as well. But she's worked too hard for this, and I'm not sure it's even a genuine threat. It's possible someone is just trying to frighten her. Any other day, she would have been the one to find it. It's only because the three of you," he glanced at Maric and Loghain, "were out so late this evening, that Eleanor discovered it when she went up to make sure the room was ready for Delilah. Besides, what's the point in keeping her away from the festival, when we can't even assume she's safe here in the castle? The note was left on her bedroom door. Whoever put it there had access to the family's private quarters."

At the mention of his daughter, Rendon Howe looked up from the note, which was now in his hands. "I . . . I apologize, Bryce. For suggesting you were being overprotective." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "If someone had left a note like this regarding my daughter . . . I wouldn't let her out of my sight."

"I don't intend to," Bryce said firmly. "But Rhianna will perform tomorrow. With a full company of Highever Regulars close at hand."

•o•


	17. All the festival's secrets

**_30 Drakonis, 9:25 Dragon  
_****_Highever Castle_**

•o•

Rhianna was bored.

Alone in her room, Rhianna lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She'd already practiced her lines several times, and gone over in her head all the things she was supposed to do during the performance, and was as prepared as she could possibly be. Now she was at a loss for something interesting to do.

What she really wanted was to go into town, and enjoy all the wonderful things that were happening because of the festival. But first thing this morning, her mother said she couldn't leave the castle today, not until the performance this evening. Rhianna wasn't even supposed to leave her bedroom, not without someone accompanying her. She wasn't sure why, but when Rhianna started to complain, her mother had given her the "I am serious about this," look, and Rhianna knew better than to argue.

After breakfast, she'd wandered around the castle with Ser Gilmore following behind, which had become dull very quickly. So, she returned to her room, and here she sat.

Bored.

She got up off the bed, and went to examine the silvery grey gown hanging on the wooden mannequin by the door. The dress, styled after clothing worn in the Black Age some five hundred years ago, had a rounded neckline and long sleeves with tippets hanging down from the elbows, and exquisite designs embroidered in black thread. It was a beautiful gown, and she traced one finger lightly over the embroidery, looking forward to the moment she would put it on. When her mother would come to help Rhianna dress, and curl her hair, and apply just enough face paint so even the people at the back of the market square could see Rhianna's face clearly when she was on stage.

But that wouldn't happen for hours, not until the sun set over the Waking Sea, and the full moon began to climb in the sky. In the meantime it seemed everyone had forgotten about her.

Even without being able to see it, Rhianna knew Highever had been transformed for the festival. The streets in town were lined with with kiosks and stalls: local vendors selling their wares side by side with traveling merchants bringing the promise of exotic wonders from across the sea. Rhianna could have stopped at the shops of the townspeople who knew her and been assured of receiving small gifts: a new ribbon for her hair, or a sweet pastry or skewer of roasted meat or splash of cider in her mug. People were always happy to give the teyrn's daughter a treat during the festival.

And of course, there was entertainment. Puppet shows and minstrels. Acrobats and theatre troupes. Some of the entertainers would present their acts on the large stage erected in the market square; others would wander around the city and perform wherever they could convince a crowd to gather. One woman didn't even have an act; she merely carried an enormous snake around her neck, and people would gawk and point, either enthralled or horrified in equal numbers. It was a beautiful snake, longer than a man is tall and wider around than one of Rhianna's arms, its scales patterned in cream and brown and black. Nothing at all like the small adders and grass snakes that lived under fallen logs in Ferelden.

In past years, there had also been a caravan with other animals - creatures so strange Rhianna never would have believed they were real if she hadn't seen them for herself. An ibex, which looked sort of like a deer, but with two extremely long, thin, sickle-shaped horns growing out of its forehead, and a huge cat called a leopard, which resembled the mountain lions that prowled in the foothills, except it was yellow with black spots and nearly twice as big. There were huge, colorful birds, and monkeys that sprang about endlessly in their cages, able to hang equally well from their tails as they could from their feet.

But her favorite was an animal she barely had words to describe. It was massive and strange, with a long winding snout coming out of its face, and legs like the trunks of trees. Its ears were bigger than dinner plates, and white tusks grew from under its upper lip. The woman who kept the animals called it an "oliphant," and Rhianna wondered how they managed to get the creature across the Waking Sea without causing the ship to sink. Even though the oliphant looked strange, when Rhianna went over to say hello, she was a friendly creature, and had a gentle spirit. She didn't really like living in the caravan, and she missed her family even though she'd only known them a short time before she'd been taken away as a baby. She did like having food whenever she wanted it, though, and the woman who cared for her was kind.

Yes, the festival would be filled with marvelous things. Marvelous things Rhianna was apparently not going to be able to see. She sighed dramatically, before remembering no one was around to hear or take pity on her.

From her bookshelf, she selected a volume she'd read before: a history book about the beginning of the Orlesian occupation. She settled into a chair to read, but after running her eyes over the same sentence three times, she still didn't know what it had said.

This wasn't going to work. The thought of all the things she was missing in the city below was just too distracting. Maybe she should go find Ser Gilmore again. He was a bit boring, mostly because he was always unfailingly polite, but it would probably be more interesting than sitting here by herself.

A knock on the door brought her to her feet, eager for whatever entertainment her visitor would provide, even if it was only one of the servants bringing her lunch.

When she opened the door, and saw the identity of her visitor - definitely not a servant with tea - her face nearly hurt from the smile that spread across it.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Loghain had risen early and left the castle before most everyone else was awake. That was by design. In particular, he wanted to avoid having to spend the entire day with Maric. Loghain was still annoyed about things said yesterday to Rhianna, and didn't want to deal with any more of the king's foolishness. It had also given Loghain the urge to spend some time alone. For a little while, at least.

So, he went into town. Because where better to be alone than the city during a festival? But at least here he was surrounded by people he didn't know, and no one talked to him much, except to try and sell him things, so the strategy had worked well enough. More important, it gave him the opportunity to inspect the square where Rhianna would perform that evening.

When he first arrived, it was early enough no performers were using the stage, so he climbed the stairs and stood in the middle of the platform, looking out over the square for any obvious places where an archer could hide, or where a group of people could wait, undetected, to attack at a predetermined time. He looked underneath the stage as well, and inspected the wooden stands from which the nobles and wealthier merchants would watch. He noticed nothing that looked particularly dangerous, so after identifying those places he would recommend guards be posted, he spent some time wandering around town, again looking for anything suspicious or out of place.

After satisfying himself that the city seemed secure - as secure as was possible during a festival - he returned to the castle. He might have stayed longer; there was something exciting about the festival atmosphere, but he was struck by a quite surprising feeling of . . . loneliness. Even though he'd wanted time to himself, it seemed difficult to enjoy the festival without someone for company. And not just anyone; he had a particular someone in mind.

He found Eleanor in the great hall, speaking with some of the castle's servants. When she was finished giving instructions, she came over to greet him.

"Good morning, Loghain. Or is it afternoon yet?" Eleanor's smile looked forced. He didn't blame her; trying to pretend everything was all right must be a challenge today. He agreed with Bryce there was no point in canceling the performance, but that didn't make it any less troubling when considering all of the possible ways things could go wrong. And the note . . . he was furious every time he remembered the words it contained.

"It's still morning, I believe, for a short time anyway. The sun is not directly above us quite yet. I trust everything is under control? Preparations for Rhianna's performance tonight, I mean."

"Yes, everything I can think of to do, to make certain things will . . . run smoothly tonight is being done. Bryce keeps assuring me everything will be fine."

"I'm sure he's right, Eleanor. And a great many people will be on hand to ensure Rhianna's safety, and everyone else's as well."

"I know. It's just . . . well, you don't want to listen to me complain, surely. You've already been into town this morning?"

"Yes, Everything there seems in order. I was wondering . . . has Rhianna gone into town?"

"Rhianna? No. I told her she needed to stay in the castle today. Bryce and I are both so busy with preparations, and I couldn't . . . well, I couldn't stomach the thought of her going into town by herself. Not today. I think she's up in her room. Either that, or she's wandering about with Ser Gilmore."

Up in her room? It was the biggest day of the festival, and Rhianna was confined to the castle? That hardly seemed fair. "Perhaps you'd agree for me to escort her into town?"

"That's kind of you to offer, Loghain, but it's really not necessary. I'm sure she's a bit disappointed, but it's not like she's never been to a festival before."

"Please, Eleanor. As a favor to me, let me take her into town. I promise, I won't let her out of my sight. Not for an instant."

"Oh, Loghain." The teyrna's brittle expression softened, and for the first time her smile reached all the way to her eyes. "Yes. Of course you can take her into town. I know she'll be safe with you."

When he knocked at her door, having been granted entrance by the two guards stationed outside the family's quarters, Rhianna's smile made him glad he'd managed to convince Eleanor to approve this excursion.

"Teyrn Loghain! Please come in! I'm surprised you're not in town, enjoying the festival." She ushered him into her room and offered him a seat.

He waved away her offer of a chair, and continued to stand. "I was in town. And then I realized something was missing. Or rather, I should say some_one_."

"Who?"

"You, of course. I don't think I can properly enjoy the festival on my own. It would be so much better if you'd agree to show me around. I expect you know all the festival's secrets: who sells the best tarts, and which performers are the most entertaining."

Her smile evaporated. "Oh. I wish I could show you around. But Mother says I'm not to leave the castle. Not until this evening."

"Oh." He frowned. "That's funny. Because when I spoke with her just a few minutes ago, she gave me permission to take you into town. So long as you promise not to abandon me and go running off on your own."

"Do you . . . do you mean that?" Her eyes grew bright and he thought he'd never seen her look quite this happy before. "Did she really say I can go into town with you? And of course I would never abandon you! You know that, don't you?"

"She really did say it," he laughed. "And yes. I know."

"Oh, Teyrn Loghain!" She made a high-pitched sort of noise, and then flung her arms around his neck, almost knocking him backwards in her exuberance. When she released him, she glanced around the room. "Let's see. Is it warm outside? Or should I bring a shawl?"

"I think you'll be fine without one. It's warm out."

"Then, I'm ready to go! We can go right now, can't we? Please?"

"We can indeed."

Fifteen minutes later, they entered the market square, which was busier than Loghain had ever seen it before. A crowed had gathered to watch a performer on the stage: a man balancing atop a donkey while swallowing a sword he'd first set on fire.

As they moved into the square, having to weave back and forth to avoid being jostled, Rhianna reached for Loghain's hand. He was glad for it; just one more assurance they wouldn't become separated in the crush of people.

They made their way through to the high street where merchants hollered boisterously, trying to garner more attention than their neighbors.

"Pasties! Meat Pasties!"

"Ale. Fresh strawberries, and ale!"

"Spices and herbs all the way from Seheron!"

"Rivaini silks! None finer in all the world!"

Rhianna stopped every so often to greet someone she knew: a merchant or local farmer or blacksmith. Bryce was right: Rhianna had made an effort to get to know the people in Highever, and was clearly well-liked by a great many of them. These were not people fawning over the daughter of the teyrn hoping to curry favor. Their smiles were genuine; these people were truly glad to see her.

"Oh! I hope Garrick hasn't sold out of pasties," she said excitedly, tugging on Loghain's hand, urging him to walk faster. "He makes the best pasties in all the world, and I'm terribly hungry!" Loghain obliged her by walking faster, and a minute later, they were stepping under the awning in front of a small wooden bakery shop.

"Lady Rhianna!" The white-haired man smiled, deep crevices forming at the corners of his eyes, joining the network of wrinkles that spread out across the fair skin of his face. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to pay me a visit today."

"Hello Garrick! I very nearly couldn't. Mother wanted me to stay in the castle, but Teyrn Loghain was able to convince her to let me come out. How are you today?"

"I'm well, my lady. Very well. Business is good, and the weather couldn't be better. I trust you're prepared for your performance tonight?"

"I hope so. I've practiced my lines a thousand times, but I'm still nervous about it."

"You've nothing to worry about, my lady. I know you'll be wonderful."

"You'll be there?"

"Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world." The baker looked up at Loghain, still smiling. "And a good day to you, as well, Your Grace. I trust you're enjoying our festival?"

"Very much," Loghain replied. "Thank you."

"So, is it to be beef and mushrooms? Or would you fancy something different, for a change?" Garrick addressed this question to Rhianna.

"Beef and mushrooms." Rhianna giggled. "I'm sure the others are lovely, but beef and mushrooms are so delicious I can't bear to even try anything else."

"One for you as well, ser?" Garrick asked Loghain.

"No thank you."

With a nod, the baker turned and, limping slightly, crossed over to a row of ovens along the wall, and returned with a pastry wrapped in parchment.

"And don't even think of trying to give me your coin, my lady. Not today. I'll not accept money from Haelia Cousland herself." The man winked.

"All right. But just today. Thank you, Garrick. I hope you won't be disappointed this evening! I'll have the guards save seats for you and your wife in the stands. Right in front, so you'll be able to see everything."

"That would be lovely, my lady. Maude will appreciate it. As will I. Especially with this bad leg of mine."

After they stepped back into the sunshine, Rhianna turned toward the waterfront. "Last year, there was a lady with wild animals from Seheron. Can we see if she's come back this year?" Loghain nodded agreeably, and Rhianna unwrapped the pasty, and took a bite. "Ummmm. This is so delicious. Here." She stopped, and held the pasty up close to Loghain's face, her other hand cupped underneath as if to catch any crumbs that fell. "You've got to try a bite. Garrick makes the best pasties in all of Thedas. Only don't tell Nan I said so."

She smiled up at him, her face glowing with pleasure, and he found himself unable to deny her request, even though he was hardly in the habit of sharing food, especially with young girls.

He took a bite. The pastry was flaky on the outside and slightly chewy in the center, the beef was tender, and the gravy was laced with the delicate flavor of mushrooms. "That is delicious. It may truly be the best pasty I've ever tasted," he said sincerely.

As they continued toward the docks, there were more treats from other vendors: artichoke hearts in sherry, an apple baked for hours in butter and spices, and which smelled divine, a hunk of very sharp cheese. Rhianna insisted that Loghain try at least a bite of everything, and by the time they reached the waterfront, he was feeling comfortably full, and in good spirits. It was difficult not to be in good spirits with Rhianna, whose joy was infectious.

"Oh look! That caravan over there, I think that's the woman from Seheron." When she took him by the hand and dragged him in the direction of a very large wagon not far from the docks, he was happy to follow.

The caravan did, indeed, belong to the woman from Seheron who traveled with a variety of wild animals. Some were in cages, but others were merely tied loosely to wooden posts with lengths of rope. The woman had, however, set up barrels with rope strung between them, to keep onlookers from getting too close, especially to anything that might bite.

When the owner of the caravan saw Rhianna she smiled broadly. When she spoke, there was a musical lilt to her voice that spoke of warm nights and air filled with spices on the island of Seheron, hundreds of miles to the north.

"Ah, if it isn't the teyrn's daughter." She was a tall, elegant woman, with skin the color of burnished mahogany. Her black hair was done up in a multitude of braids, all pulled into a queue at the back of her head. "Mistress Jumbo will be happy to see you again. As am I."

"Hello, again! I'm so glad you came back this year. Do you really think Mistress Jumbo will remember me?"

"She has a very good memory. Oliphants are like that. But if you are wondering, why not go ask her yourself?"

For the next several minutes, Rhianna led Loghain around so they could greet all of the animals, including the oliphant, who did seem happy to see Rhianna. They visited the birds: strange pink things on long legs whose heads looked like they were attached upside down, and one that was taller than Loghain, with a black body and a long neck. There was something that looked exactly like a horse, except it was striped black and white. All this, along with the monkeys, and the leopard, and a host of others.

When there was a lull in the crowd, the woman stepped up and spoke softly to Rhianna. "Would you like to see someone special?" she asked. "She's not big enough yet for me to put her on display all the time, but I think it would be all right for you and your friend to meet her."

"Oh, yes, please!"

Rhianna and Loghain followed the woman inside of a tented wagon. Inside, it appeared this was where the woman made her home. There were cushions and pans and books and all the myriad things a traveler would require. There was also a large basket sitting in the far corner. The menagerie keeper crossed to the basket, and reached inside.

When she pulled back her hands, she was holding . . . well, a kitten. At least that's the only thing Loghain could think of to call it. But this was no ordinary kitten. Although apparently quite young, it was larger than any full-grown house cat he'd ever seen, and proportioned differently as well, with a very large head compared to its body, and paws that looked enormous, with claws to match.

"Oh . . ." Rhianna breathed. "She is so beautiful! I think she might be the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my life! What kind of cat is she? And what is she called?"

The woman laughed, and put the cat into Rhianna's open arms. "She is a lion cub, and her name is Sarabi. And someday, she'll be even bigger than the leopard out there who you have already met."

Sarabi was beautiful, with tawny yellow fur covering her entire body, except for a small white tuft under her chin, and darker spots on her legs. Her eyes were large and brown, and she had long whiskers, and wide, rounded ears. A little pink tongue peeked out between black lips, and her nose was triangular and shining black.

Rhianna sat on the floor of the wagon, and pulled a ribbon out of her hair, dangling it in front of the kitten. Sarabi immediately began batting it and chasing it across the floor.

"I need to go back outside, to see to the other animals," the woman said, "but you and Sarabi can play as long as you like."

"Thank you. Thank you so much." When the woman left, Loghain settled himself on the floor, as well.

Happy to play with the hair ribbon, the cub leapt and pounced, and once landed in Loghain's lap, looking surprised at first, but then purring loudly when the teyrn used his broad fingers to rub the back of its head and neck.

"It's amazing to think she'll be bigger than the leopard when she's grown," Loghain mused.

"It is amazing. But I believe it. She is bigger than a mountain lion cub already."

"You've seen mountain lion cubs?"

"Of course. They don't come down onto the plains too often, but they're everywhere up in the hills. I've even seen them near where we swam yesterday." She looked thoughtful for a moment while the lion cub gnawed gently on her hand. "Perhaps I should try and find one that needs a mother," she mused. "A mountain lion cub, I mean. Wouldn't that be fun? Having a mountain lion live in the castle with me?"

Loghain laughed out loud. "Only you, Rhianna, could possibly charm a mountain lion into being your pet." Rhianna's nose wrinkled for a moment, but then she burst into laughter as well.

There was merit, however, in the idea of getting the girl some sort of animal companion. Not a mountain lion; he doubted Rhianna's parents would allow that. But a mabari hound, perhaps. Not only would that give her some companionship, but a hound would offer protection as well. He'd have to remember to mention it to Bryce and Eleanor.

Probably not a good idea to take Rhianna to the breeding kennels, though. Mabaris chose their owners, not the other way around and in Rhianna's case, she was likely to bond with every puppy on the premises. And if she insisted on bringing all of them home (as she seemed likely to do, knowing Rhianna) Highever Castle would be overrun with slobbering furballs, all vying noisily for the girl's attention. Loghain chuckled softly at the image of that in his mind.

Rhianna gave him a curious look, cocking her head to one side. "What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking there aren't nearly enough dogs in Highever."

Loghain relaxed against the back of a crate, and for the next hour or so, he chatted with Rhianna and watched her play with the cub. And while no one spoke of it, all three felt it was a most agreeable way to pass the afternoon.

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_Author's Note: I want to give a big THANK YOU to my wonderful beta, Xogs! And thanks, also, to my lovely reviewers. It means so much to me that you take the time to tell me what you think of my story. _


	18. The Festival of Wolves

**_30 Drakonis, 9:25 Dragon  
_****_Highever_**

•o•

Rhianna stood in front of the looking glass, staring at her own reflection. It was difficult to believe the girl gazing back was actually _her_. With her hair pulled up, and the paint on her face, wearing a fancy, old-fashioned dress, she looked older. Almost like a grown up. It was strange to see herself like this. Strange, but not in a bad way.

Her mother rested her hands on Rhianna's shoulders. "You look lovely, darling. And if you're ready, it's time for us to go downstairs and lead the procession to the market square."

Together, Rhianna and Eleanor made their way to the lower level of the castle and out the wide main gates. Walking beside her mother, Rhianna carried the only prop she would use for the performance: a longsword, the actual sword wielded by Haelia Cousland when she confronted the werewolves all those years ago. Less than an hour ago, her father had removed it from the family vault and brought it upstairs for Rhianna to bring with her. Made of silverite, it was huge and heavy and plain, with no ornamentation other than a rounded ball at the end of the handle. Rhianna couldn't possibly have wielded it - she wasn't strong enough yet - but, using both hands, she would be able to raise it above her head, at least for a few minutes, during the performance.

As they proceeded along the road into Highever, people who lived and worked in the castle fell into step behind them all along the way, joined by townspeople as they entered the city itself. By the time they'd reached the edge of the market square, there was a huge, boisterous crowd following behind, along with some of the extra guards Bryce had ordered to be present. Up above, the full moon had reached its highest point in the night sky.

At the edge of the square, Rhianna stopped and waited as she had been instructed to do, a throng of excited spectators between her and the platform. Most of the nobles were already seated in the stands; Rhianna could see King Maric and Prince Cailan, the Howe family, and Anora. Fergus and Oriana sat together, although baby Oren had been left at the castle with a nanny. Garrick and his wife were there, too, in the seats they'd been given as near as possible to the stage, just as Rhianna had requested. Two people, however, were noticeably absent. Earlier, Teyrn Loghain had told her he intended to watch from the floor of the square, so he could be closer to the stage. Nor was her father in the stands; he was waiting behind the curtains on the stage for the moment he would announce the start of the performance.

At a signal from Eleanor, a quartet of horn-blowers sounded the call to attention, their instruments fashioned out of the hollowed-out horns of oxen. Voices hushed, and all eyes turned to the stage as Bryce Cousland stepped from behind the curtains to address the crowd.

•o•o•o•o•o•

"Good evening." Bryce's voice carried easily over the square. "People of Highever, of the Coastlands, and honored guests, we welcome you to the Festival of Wolves: the celebration of our victory over the werewolves who terrorized these lands for so many years. Haelia Cousland - my ancestress, and the first Teyrna of Highever - united the Coastlands as never before, and led our people into victorious battle. Tonight, for the first time in a great many years, one of Haelia's own descendants will perform for you: my daughter, Lady Rhianna Cousland."

An excited murmur went through the crowd.

"This battle, this pivotal event in the history of Ferelden, has shaped us into the people we are today, as proud citizens of the Coastlands. But never let it be forgotten that the werewolves were also citizens of the Coastlands, and we honor them as well.

"Now, witness the reenactment of Haelia's historic victory!" He swept his arms wide, moving backwards to the side of the stage as musicians began to play a cheerful tune. Performers dressed as peasants streamed out from behind the curtains, and Bryce stepped out of view as the players took their places on stage.

From where he stood, Loghain had a good view not only of the stage, but also of the crowd. So far, he'd seen no indication anyone was here for anything other than entertainment. No one lurking suspiciously, or appearing armed under their clothing. All seemed calm.

With movements timed to flow with the music, the players acted out daily life in the Coastlands. The milkmaid carried her buckets, the blacksmith beat at his forge in time with the drums. The farmer tilled her fields while a merchant pushed the cart with his wares across the stage, each of them singing a song about the peaceful lives they led.

As the song reached its crescendo, with all the villagers singing in harmony, the curtains at the back of the stage parted, and a young boy raced onstage. "They're coming! They're coming! Run for your lives!"

Before the villagers could react, three black wolves - real wolves, huge and snarling - rushed through the curtains and began to attack the peasants, barking and growling and pulling on their clothing. Amidst chaos and screaming, the peasants crumpled to the ground.

A deafening "CRACK!" split the night air, bringing cries of alarm from the spectators. All eyes looked up as lightning flashed through the air above the stage. For nearly a minute, streaks of light danced and crashed together over their heads, an impressive display which was both beautiful and terrifying; surely the work of the Couslands' court mage.

When the last of the chain lightning had crackled away, the wolves were gone and only dark figures remained, lying motionless on the stage. The musicians again began to play, music that was no longer cheerful, but slow and plodding and ominous.

The crowd fell silent as the figures started to move, writhing on the ground at first, then pulling themselves to their feet. One by one, they staggered toward the front of the stage. As they moved into the glow cast by the flickering torches that lit the front of the stage, Loghain could see each of the figures was tall, and covered in dark fur, with long snouts, sharp, shiny pointed fangs, and long claws on their hands and their feet.

Werewolves.

The werewolves spread themselves out along the edges of the stage, snarling and growling at the crowd. One of them threw back its head and howled. Someone in the crowd shrieked, causing others nearby to laugh nervously.

The tempo of the music sped up as more villagers emerged onto the stage, seemingly unaware of the threat that awaited them. The werewolves turned and attacked. Some of the villagers fought back with hoes or pitchforks, while others tried to run. In a few short minutes, though, all of them had fallen to the ground, moaning in agony or laying entirely still.

More lightning danced across the sky, and more of the fallen were "transformed" into murderous beasts. The werewolves returned to the front of the stage, in greater numbers than before, and began eyeing members of the audience, sniffing and huffing and clawing at the air with their front paws.

People at the front of the crowd began to whisper amongst themselves, shifting and glancing around nervously. One of the werewolves snarled at a young lady standing right in front of the stage, and she screamed in terror, cowering and pushing herself backward a few steps. The werewolf leapt into the space cleared in front of her, and grabbed her by the shoulders. She screamed as the beast sank its fangs into her throat, a scream cut off abruptly as she collapsed to the ground.

Now, other werewolves were eying members of the crowd, and the spectators began backing away from the stage. One by one, the werewolves jumped to the ground, forcing the crowd back and to the sides of the square, occasionally taking a victim. In just a few minutes, they had forced open a path in the crowd all the way from the stage to the back of the market square. For the first time, Loghain saw Rhianna, waiting, her face serene and determined.

One of the werewolves approached her, a creature nearly twice as tall as the girl. It growled and snarled before swiping at her with one of its claws. Chin held high, she stood her ground, not flinching as the claw swept mere inches from her face. Another beast loped through the square and came to stand in front of her, both creatures looking hungry for her blood. One of them howled, as the other snapped its jaws, crouching slightly as though it intended to pounce.

"ENOUGH!" Holding the sword in both hands, Rhianna lifted it high above her head. "I am Haelia Cousland, ruler of these lands, and I command you to STOP!"

Through narrowed eyes, she stared at the werewolves until they cowered before her. Staggering backward, they tried to get away from her, and her sword, as quickly as possible. When they had retreated about half the distance to the stage, Rhianna lowered the sword and strode through the crowd, down the path the werewolves and their "victims" who had been planted throughout the crowd, had cleared for her. The werewolves scurried away at her approach, and she mounted the wooden steps to the platform, moving to the front of the stage.

As Rhianna took her place at the center of the stage, the crowd, remembering this had been staged for their entertainment - the performance was the same every year, after all - cheered loudly, and moved to once again fill in the empty space in the square.

Onstage, the werewolves gathered in one dark corner, while more villagers came through the curtains. With the sword in her right hand, Rhianna brought it down quickly, stabbing the tip into the wooden stage. Resting one hand on the pommel, she raised her other hand high in the air, requesting silence from the audience.

"Good people of the Coastlands. You have suffered long enough under the teeth and the claws of these werewolves. You have lost your loved ones - either to death, or by seeing them transformed into creatures the Maker surely never intended." Her eyes sparkled, and her voice caught in all the right places, her pitch ebbing and swelling to create exactly the right mood. "The time has come for us to stand together and end for once and for all this terror that has plagued the Coastlands these many years."

These exact lines had been delivered at every Festival of Wolves for nearly five hundred years; Loghain had heard them himself, on more than one occasion. But he doubted anyone, ever, had spoken them with this much intensity or sincerity. Not since Haelia Cousland herself.

"Tonight, the Coastlands stand, for the first time, united. Together, we can accomplish what none of us could ever accomplish on our own!"

"Huzzah!" someone shouted from the back of the square, and a murmur of approval went through the crowd. Up on the stage, Rhianna looked older than her years. Not only that. She looked . . . regal. Like a queen out of one of the tales. Or a general preparing to lead her people into battle.

She paused, waiting for the crowd to become quiet again, and allowed her gaze to wander over the faces of the spectators. People responded to her, their eyes lighting up as if they hungered to hear her next words.

"Join me, people of the Coastlands. Join me and fight. Fight for your homes, for your loved ones, for the right to live free of fear. We shall retake the night, retake the full of the moon, and retake our beloved homeland!"

She shifted her body to grasp the sword with both hands. With a smooth, confident movement, she pulled it free from the wood, then swept it up above her head.

"We will fight," she shouted, "and we will be victorious!

"ARE YOU WITH ME?"

The crowd burst into an uproar of noise: of shouting and stomping feet, cries of "Yes, Milady!" and "We stand with you, Milady!" and "We will fight, Milady!"

A chill ran down Loghain's spine. Yes, this reenactment was performed every year, and these shouts from the crowd are expected, a way of giving everyone a chance to be part of the event, to cheer and swear loyalty to whatever young woman had been chosen to play Haelia Cousland. Loghain had stood in this very market square on many previous years and enjoyed the show.

But tonight, something was different.

Above him on the stage, a young woman stood tall and proud, her arms bent slightly at the elbows under the weight of the huge sword, a slight frown on her face. Her lips were parted and her chest heaved slowly, as if from the effort of bending these people to her will. Yes, it was Rhianna on the stage, but not as he had ever seen her before. This . . . this was a glimpse of the woman she would someday become.

And she was magnificent.

He had given countless speeches in his life, to people whose lives rested on the decisions he would make, to soldiers he was sending into battle. Needing to inspire them and comfort them, knowing some of them would not live to see the next sunrise. Just now, what he heard in Rhianna's voice was what he had tried to convey in every one of those speeches.

This had become real to her. She had united the Coastlands and would lead these people into battle.

The spectators were caught up in it, too, in the drama of the moment. If she had asked it of them, asked them to fight for her, lay down their lives for her, they would have done it. Gladly. Taken up arms and followed her into battle.

Another woman's face appeared in his mind. Rowan. Right now, Rhianna reminded him of the queen. Not the way Rhianna looked, nor the sound of her voice. Not even the way she held herself, with her chin raised high in defiance of anything that would dare challenge her. It was her eyes. The way they glowed from within with a fire that inspired people to listen, to follow, to serve.

These people would have done anything Rhianna asked of them.

And at this moment, Loghain, too, would have followed her anywhere. Into battle. Into the darkspawn-infested depths of the Deep Roads. Into Orlais. Into the Black City itself. He would have done anything she commanded, and the knowledge left him feeling both exhilarated and . . . frightened.

Onstage, one by one, the "townspeople" moved to stand closer to her. Three or four members of the audience even climbed up on stage in their excitement, becoming part of her army. Rhianna turned her gaze to the corner where the werewolves stood, their furred bodies hunched, and shifting with nervous energy.

One of them snarled and ran at her, and in a smooth, sweeping movement, she brought the sword to the creature's throat. He dropped to his knees. Rhianna turned to the townspeople surrounding her and nodded once, slowly.

Battle cries filled the air: "For Haelia and the Coastlands!" and "For Ferelden and the Maker!" and in a rush, the townspeople ran at the werewolves, attacking and easily overwhelming them. One by one, the werewolves fell to the ground and lay motionless, and within minutes the townspeople were celebrating their victory, dancing or hugging one another. Some knelt in prayer over a fallen comrade, or even one of the werewolves.

Rhianna turned back to the audience, holding the sword down at her side and again raising one arm, briefly, requesting the crowd's silence.

"Tonight, on this, the full moon in the month of Drakonis, remember the victory of Haelia Cousland, the woman who united the Coastlands. Remember what she taught us: the importance of fighting side by side, rather than separately. We are far stronger when we join together than when we attempt to suffer through hardships alone.

"And never forget," she continued, her voice pitched slightly lower, but with greater volume, "that these creatures, these werewolves are not evil. They were once like you and me, but suffered from a curse beyond their control, and we must show them compassion. Tonight, we honor them as well, and honor the sacrifice of their lives, and acknowledge what they, too, suffered.

"And now, my friends, my fellow citizens of the Coastlands, my fellow FERELDANS!" she shouted, leaning forward, her eyes burning as her words were met with exuberant cheers. She waited a moment for the crowd to grow quiet again before she continued. "I give you the night of full moon. I give you the Festival of Wolves!"

As cheering began to erupt, she held up her hands, as if to stifle the shouting for one final moment. She grinned, the girlish grin of a twelve-year-old, and the spell was broken. She was no longer the teyrna who had united the Coastlands, no longer a general leading her soldiers to war, but once again the girl Loghain knew so well. When the crowd was quiet again, she shouted, "And my father told me to say he is providing the ale for the rest of your evening's pleasure! So enjoy yourselves, and enjoy the rest of the festival!"

The crowd burst into a cheer, no longer an army ready to be led into battle, but once again merely a crowd of merry-makers who had enjoyed the performance and were eager to get drunk at the good teyrn's expense.

As the crowd began to disburse, Rhianna relaxed, her shoulders slumping as she released the posture she'd held while performing. She didn't attempt to leave the stage; instead, she looked out into the crowd. She scanned the wooden stands, and then the crowd on the floor of the market place, as if she was looking for someone or something.

Her eyes found his face, and she stopped searching. Then, she smiled. A smile that outshined all the torches that lit up the city, that outshined the full moon, even the lightning cast earlier by the court mage. Loghain's breath caught in his chest when he realized that her smile - that beautiful smile - was intended for him.

Had the sight of his face ever before given someone so much pleasure?

Maker's breath. Maybe Maric was right. Rhianna was fond of Loghain, that much was clear. What if she still felt that way, what if those feelings grew into something more, when she was grown? Tonight, it was easy to believe such a thing possible. Perhaps he _should_ speak to Bryce.

No.

No. Maric was wrong. Good intentioned, perhaps, but wrong. Even if Rhianna did care, Loghain could not even consider marrying her. Yes, he'd been swept away along with everyone else during the performance. Mesmerized by the clothes and the hair and the way she spoke to the crowd. So confident. So strong. Such fire in her eyes. But all the arguments he had made to Maric the previous day were still valid.

If there was some chance he could make her happy, some chance he could remember what it was like to be loved and love someone in return, then perhaps. But he wasn't capable of that. Not any more. Too many years had passed, he'd done too many things for which he couldn't forgive himself. And he couldn't risk ruining Rhianna's life the way he'd ruined so many others. Not even if he was what she wanted. Perhaps especially if he was what she wanted.

Maric would call him stubborn. Tell him if he wanted something badly enough, he could make it happen. But Loghain wasn't Maric, and these things didn't come easily to him. Not that they came easily to Maric, frankly, no matter how much the man liked to think otherwise. Yes, Maric had allowed himself to fall in love any number of times . . . and look what had come of it. Every single time. No matter how cheerful the king appeared to most everyone else, Loghain had helped Maric to bed, senseless with drink, far too many nights to believe his friend was happy with the choices he had made.

No. Loghain could not be something other than what he was. Even if he wanted to change, he didn't know how. And he couldn't do that to Rhianna. Not to her. She deserved someone who could genuinely love her. She deserved a man far better than he was.

Something of his inner turmoil must have shown on his face, for her smile began to falter, and a small crease formed above her brow. Then she snapped her head to the left and peered out over the crowd, as if she were hearing something he could not hear, and looking for its source.

Then Loghain heard it too: screams, from the direction of the wharf, but seeming to move closer with every breath. When he looked back at the stage, Rhianna's eyes had sought him out again, and he saw her lips form his name - "Teyrn Loghain!" - but couldn't hear her voice over the noise of the crowd. Clearing a path for himself through the people who milled in the square, he reached the base of the stage just as Bryce joined Rhianna on the platform above. Loghain reached for her, and Rhianna stepped off of the stage into his arms. He set her on her feet, then offered Bryce a hand as the man leapt down to the ground. Loghain reached for the dagger tucked into his boot, and held it at the ready.

"Something's happening. I don't know what, but we've got to get out of here," Bryce insisted, his hands on Rhianna's shoulders. The market square was filled with people, most of whom had started to panic, pushing at one another with no thought of where they were going. Loghain's eyes flew to the wooden stands; it took only a moment to locate his daughter. She was with Maric and Cailan and several of the other nobles, and they were surrounded by armed guards. Her face was pale, but she looked fine otherwise. Her eyes met his across the distance, and she smiled, as if with relief to see that he was unharmed.

"Go!" she mouthed, with a sweep of her hand. He looked again at the guards, and decided that she and the others were more than adequately defended. And he needed to get Rhianna to safety. Now.

A guttural snarl erupted close by, and Loghain turned to see the man beside him bent over, as if in pain. Loghain stepped closer; perhaps the man had been injured and needed help. But as the figure stood straight, Loghain saw it was not a man at all, but something that appeared to be a cross between a human and a wolf. One that, unlike the costumed performers who prowled the square a few minutes ago, was real, with a long snout filled with long, pointed teeth. Its head was covered with shaggy fur, but the rest of the creature's body was naked, except for patches of fur on the arms and legs and covering the groin. Scraps of torn clothing hung from its limbs, slipping to the ground as Loghain watched.

Maker's blood. A werewolf. A living, breathing, actual werewolf.

The werewolf turned toward Loghain, but when its eyes alit on Rhianna, it moved in her direction. From behind her, Bryce pushed the girl out of the way, toward Loghain, and then darted forward between his daughter and the creature that had taken such an interest in her.

Raising an inhumanly long arm, the werewolf batted Bryce aside, sending him flying backwards against the stage, where he crumpled to the ground. Before the werewolf could ready itself for another attack, Loghain took a guess at where the creature's vital organs would be, and plunged his dagger into its back. Apparently, his aim was true, for the creature howled in agony, then collapsed and was still.

Rhianna and Loghain both hurried to Bryce's side as he struggled to sit up. "My leg," he moaned. "I think it's broken." Nearby, a woman screamed, high-pitched and piercing, and Loghain thought he heard another snarl. More of the creatures were attacking the crowd.

Bryce grabbed Loghain's arm. "Get her out of here. Get my daughter back to the castle. Please." The castle. Yes. The castle that had guards, and weapons, and gates that could be barred.

Loghain nodded, and began to stand, taking Rhianna's arm and urging her to her feet as well.

"Father, no!" Rhianna argued. "We can't just leave you here!"

"Go with Loghain, Pup," Bryce insisted. "I'll be fine, you'll see. I'm not the one they want." A howl echoed through the market square, much too close for comfort. "Now go with Loghain!" Bryce shouted. "Not another word!"

"Yes, Father." Rhianna allowed Loghain to help her to her feet. She still held the huge Cousland sword in one of her hands, even though she had no chance of wielding it properly.

"Trade with me?" he asked, holding the bloody dagger out in front of her. She looked confused for a moment, but then glanced down at the longsword she was holding.

"Yes, let's," she agreed. Offering him the pommel of the sword, she took the dagger in her left hand, bouncing it lightly to get a feel for its weight.

Loghain grasped Rhianna's free hand, and led her away from the stage. The market square was in chaos, people running in all directions, and a few lying on the ground, as well.

A huge furred beast ran in front of them. When it saw Rhianna, it seemed to recognize her, and turned in her direction. With one smooth motion, Loghain ran the longsword through its gut and yanked upward. He pulled out his sword and pushed the creature aside with one shoulder, leading Rhianna away before the thing had even hit the ground.

The entire city was in an uproar. Loghain and Rhianna were surrounded by a sea of panicked faces as they left the market square and turned up the main street leading to Highever Castle. These werewolves - if that is, indeed, what they were - didn't hesitate to attack. The night air was filled with the screams of townspeople who had been clawed and bitten and ripped at by the beasts.

Whenever one of the creatures approached, its shaggy head sticking up above the rest of the crowd, Loghain cut it down, but he made no attempt to go after them otherwise. Every scream that split the air made him cringe; it felt wrong run away from the battle when he could have helped these people, saved some of them. He could count on one hand the number of times in his life he had run away from a fight. But he had to protect Rhianna; that was the only thing that mattered. So he ignored the screaming, and focused on getting her through the chaos to the safety of the castle.

Before they'd gone far from the square, the street ahead was bathed in a flickering orange glow, where several vendors' stalls had been knocked over and set ablaze. An acrid smell of smoke stung his nostrils.

Damn it. There was no way they could get through the barricade, which cut off their route to the castle. "Is there another way to the castle?" Loghain shouted into Rhianna's ear.

"Yes. Follow me!"

Still hand in hand, with Rhianna leading the way, they doubled back for about half a block, then turned left into an alley. At first it appeared to be a dead end, but at the far end there was a narrow space between two buildings, barely wide enough for a horse to pass through. Rhianna darted into the passage, and they soon emerged on the other side. This alley was deserted, the sounds of screaming fainter now. Here, no torches were lit, and piles of refuse created a stink that permeated the air. A dead cat lay on the street alongside a filthy cobblestone wall. How was it Rhianna knew her way around what seemed to be one of the rougher districts in the town? Before he could dwell too long on the thought, though, they'd turned right into yet another alley, this one even less well lit.

Rhianna kept running, turning so many times, and so quickly, Loghain lost his sense of direction. Finally, they emerged onto a street wider than the back alleys they had just traversed. Rhianna turned right, and suddenly the castle loomed in front of them, not more than a few streets away at most. They were closer than he'd imagined. Thank the Maker. Or, rather, thank Rhianna's good knowledge of Highever town.

He squeezed her hand, and they exchanged smiles at the prospect of reaching the safety of the castle. But as they came within a few yards of the end of the street, three dark, impossibly tall figures came into view, blocking their exit. Rhianna and Loghain both slid to a halt simultaneously.

Maker's balls.

Even in shadow, there was no question that they were werewolves. And as they advanced, slowly, shifting side to side in a way that was disturbingly inhuman, there was no question they were anything but friendly.

Loghain began walking backwards, urging Rhianna along with him, slowly, never taking his eyes off of the creatures. If they could just get back to the alley, surely Rhianna knew her way through Highever better than these creatures did. Perhaps they could lose them in the maze of alleys.

But before they'd gone more than a few feet, the sounds of scraping and snarling could be heard behind them. Loghain turned to see two more of the creatures coming up behind, blocking their escape. Loghain angled his body so he and Rhianna could back up into a small alcove jutting off the street they were on. It didn't offer any route for escape, but at least their backs were protected, and he wouldn't be faced with opponents in front and behind.

As the werewolves moved into the center of the street, they were no longer hidden by the shadows of the building. In the light of the full moon, each of the creatures stood about seven feet tall, broad-chested, on legs which looked like the hind legs of a wolf. Probably with footprints that matched the tracks they'd found in the chamber beneath the ruins. Deep set eyes glowed maliciously in the moonlight as the werewolves snarled and snapped and growled.

"What luck." The beast that spoke was smaller than the rest, its dark fur speckled with grey. "It's the Cousland girl." There was an odor in the air now, musky and feral - the same scent that lingered in the underground room they'd found beneath the ruins. Only now it was stronger, sharper. Fresh. The scent of the werewolves.

The werewolf took a step closer, and Loghain stepped protectively in front of Rhianna.

Another of the creatures laughed, a deep rasping sound with no humor in it. "Do you think you'll be able to stop us from doing whatever we want to the child?"

"Besides," the first one drawled, "We don't intend to hurt her." He paused, laughing. If the howling, barking sound that erupted from his snout could be called a "laugh." "Well, perhaps I should say we don't intend to _kill_ her. The transformation itself does hurt, just a bit, though."

"You will not touch even one hair on this girl's head." Loghain kept his face neutral, not wanting them to see any worry or doubt. "I don't know what you want with her, but I suggest you turn around now and leave. Leave Highever and never return. Because I assure you, as of tomorrow morning, there will be nowhere in the whole of the Coastlands that will provide you with safe shelter."

All of the wolves howled, literally, with laughter, and then moved forward, slowly. One of them stopped, dropping down on four feet while it sniffed in Loghain's direction. "Mmmmnh." The voice sounded vaguely female. "I like the smell of this one. Perhaps we should take both of them. It would be a waste to kill him." She stood straight again, and her tongue snaked out to slide over her teeth, a trail of saliva dripping from her jaws.

"I have no problem with that," said the first one. "Let's just get this over with. Either way, it's the girl who is important. It's the girl we want."

"Why?" Rhianna stepped forward, next to Loghain. Reflexively, he put his arm out to shield her from the wolves, but she appeared not to notice. She looked straight ahead, her jaw set determinedly. "What do you want with me? I've never done anything to hurt you. Nor any other wild creature."

"Because," a werewolf who had not yet spoken hissed softly, "you spawned from one who drove us into hiding. The Cousland, so many years ago. I was there, and I saw her with her flashing sword and her flashing eyes and her bloody hands as she murdered our kin."

"I had nothing to do with that." Rhianna's voice was calm. From where Loghain stood, he could see she was trembling, but not so much anyone farther away could notice. Frightened, but standing her ground. Good girl. "Besides," she continued, "how can you blame them for defending themselves? Or are the stories all lies, and werewolves never attacked and killed people? You can't expect people to sit back and allow themselves to be slaughtered."

Unfortunately, the werewolves were not in the mood for sensible debate. "Enough talk!" the short grey one snarled. "What happened in the past is past. I care only about tonight. And tonight, I want to taste her blood!"

As the werewolves began to advance, Loghain gently laid the flat edge of the sword against Rhianna's chest, urging her backwards until she was completely behind him again, out of the reach of any of the werewolves. "Stay away from them," he murmured over his shoulder, turning his head to the side without taking his eyes off the werewolves. "Roll out of the way, and don't let them touch you. And if you get the opportunity, leave me behind and run as fast as you can."

He circled the longsword in the air with a flourish, then bent at the knees, dropping into a crouch.

"FOR MARIC AND THE MAKER!"

For one exquisitely long moment, the creatures stood motionless, stunned by the war cry that boomed off the stone walls of the alley. Loghain swung the sword at the closest one, making a wide arc that cut the creature's head cleanly from its body. As the others recovered from their shock, Loghain whirled around, slashing at another of the wolves as it prepared to attack. The werewolf dodged, but not quickly enough to avoid the blow, which landed against its lower back, sending the creature crashing to its knees. Loghain drove the heel of his boot into its spine, and it collapsed against the ground.

The other three werewolves paced back and forth, waiting for an opening to attack. The tight space, combined with the reach of Loghain's long arms and the sword, prevented them from attacking him all at once; they would have to do it in turns.

One of the wolves charged. Loghain feinted, then stepped to one side, put a foot out to trip the wolf, sending it sprawling. As it rolled and got back onto its feet for another attack, Loghain drove the tip of the longsword through the belly of another as it tried to dart past.

Now, only two remained standing, and they both ran at him at once. Loghain swung at the one on his left side, and prepared to sweep around and hit the other werewolf with a recovery swing, but it was out of range. Too late, he saw he'd made a mistake. The werewolf on the right had feinted instead of committing to an attack, and now rushed past Loghain in the wake of his failed swing, and headed straight for Rhianna.

She saw the creature coming, and attempted to roll to one side, as she'd done hundreds of times on the practice field, but her foot caught on the long hem of her gown, sending her crashing down on one knee. The werewolf reached for her, its claws gleaming white in the moonlight, and Rhianna slashed at it with Loghain's dagger. Her blow struck true, and the dagger glowed brightly for an instant, making a crackling sound. A gash appeared in the creature's arm, and the smell of burnt fur drifted through the air.

As the werewolf howled in pain, Rhianna tried to crawl away and Loghain rushed at the creature, but before he could get close enough to attack, the werewolf pounced, landing almost on top of the girl. She turned to face it, striking out again with the dagger, but it grabbed at her with a clawed hand, then leaned forward and bit down on her arm, its fangs tearing through the sleeve of her gown, and sinking into her flesh. Rhianna screamed, and stabbed it in the chest with the dagger, but the creature ignored her attack, throwing back its head and howling, as if in triumph.

Loghain skewered the creature, pushing his sword all the way through its furred body. Before he had time to recover from the attack, he heard a snarl behind him. The last werewolf still standing charged at him, slamming into him, knocking him forward onto his knees. He used the momentum of his fall to yank his sword out of the werewolf that had bitten Rhianna, and spun around. Putting one foot on the ground to steady himself, he held the sword up as if it were a pike, with its pommel supported by the ground. When the werewolf charged at him again, it impaled itself. Loghain turned his head to avoid the blood and saliva spraying from the creature's open jaws. As the werewolf crumpled to the ground, Loghain rolled out of the way.

All five of the werewolves now lay motionless. Loghain kicked at each of them in turn to assure himself they were really dead. Only the one he had stomped with his boot made any sound, a weak groan. Loghain pointed the longsword at the base of its skull, thrusting downward in a motion that silenced the beast forever.

He crouched beside Rhianna to examine the wound on her arm. He couldn't see the actual bite; there was too much blood soaking the sleeve of her gown, but she seemed to still have the use of her arm, which meant no bones had likely been broken. But one of the creatures had . . . bitten her. Maker's Breath. Even if the bite wasn't serious, she needed a healer. Now.

If a healer would even be able to help her. The bite of a werewolf . . .

Loghain took her face between his hands. "Rhianna." He looked directly into her eyes. They were filled with tears, and her lower lip was trembling. "You're going to be all right, do you hear me? We're going to find a healer for you."

"Am I . . ." she began, her voice small and scared; her tears weren't caused by the pain from the bite. "Will I turn into . . . one of them now?" A single tear crawled through the paint on her face left over from the evening's performance.

"No!" He didn't look away from her eyes, didn't even blink. "You will not turn into a werewolf, Rhianna. We will find some way to heal you."

The words "_I promise_" were on his tongue, but he stopped himself before speaking them. No matter how desperately he wanted her to be all right, he honestly didn't know if there was any cure, any way to help her. So, he left the promise unspoken, instead cutting a strip of fabric off of the bottom of his shirt so he could tie a tourniquet on her arm above the wound.

_Please, Andraste. Let the mage who sent up the lightning have spirit magic, as well. And please let there be a cure. Please._

"We need to get to the castle," he said, helping Rhianna to her feet, taking care not to put any stress on her injured arm. There could be any number of those creatures still looking for Rhianna, and no way of knowing whether or not the guard had managed to get control of the village. Carrying the longsword at the ready, he took her by the hand.

As they passed by the dead werewolves, Rhianna gasped. "Look!" Four of the figures laying in the street were no longer beasts. Alongside a single fur-covered werewolf lay three men and a woman, naked and covered in their own blood. Rhianna looked down at the one who had bitten her.

"I know him." Rhianna's voice caught. "His name is Billy. He works with one of the fishmongers down at the wharf. I've known him for years, and he's always been nice to me. I just saw him last week. How could he possibly be a werewolf? I thought they all lived hidden away somewhere."

It was a good question.

"I don't know, Rhianna. Maybe he was just recently transformed. Or maybe . . ." He sighed. "I really don't know. But we need to get you to safety, in case more of those things are looking for you."

Hand in hand, they hurried toward the lights of the castle.

•o•


	19. The form, the speed, and the fury

**_30 Drakonis, 9:25 Dragon  
_****_Highever, Underground_**

•o•

The great hall of Highever Castle was crowded with people who had sought shelter from the carnage in town.

_Anora_.

That was Loghain's first thought when he and Rhianna entered the hall. He needed to find his daughter, make certain she had made it out of the city safely.

As he began to scan the faces in the crowd, she appeared beside him.

"Father! Oh, Blessed Andraste. You're safe." She threw her arms around him, and he returned the embrace awkwardly, pulling her as close as he could while still holding the longsword in one hand, and Rhianna's hand in the other.

When Anora pulled away, she glanced down at Rhianna. "And you, Rhianna. Thank the Maker you're all right . . ." The smile slipped away when she noticed the blood staining Rhianna's sleeve.

Her eyes flew to his face. "Father?"

He shook his head to indicate he couldn't answer her question. Not now. "What of Maric?" he asked. "And Cailan, and the others?"

"Everyone is fine. The guards acted quickly, surrounding us before the attack had barely begun. It took them only a few minutes to kill . . . whatever those things were." She took in a deep breath. "Then, they escorted us back here as quickly as possible."

"And Bryce? Did he make it back to the castle?" Loghain asked. "We saw him the square. His leg had been broken."

"He's not back yet. But I overheard someone say he was all right. He's being carried back by some of the guards." Anora's face was pale as she glanced down at Rhianna, who stood silently, still clutching Loghain's hand.

Loghain had the urge to reach out to his daughter, to touch her face, run his hand down her arm, to reassure himself she was safe. But neither of his hands were free, so he merely asked, "Are you certain you're all right, Norrie?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. It looks as though she needs the healer."

"She does. Have you seen Eleanor?"

Anora pointed to the opposite end of the hall. "Over there."

Loghain nodded his thanks. "Here," he said, handing her the Cousland sword. "Will you keep an eye on this?"

She took the sword. "Of course."

"Thank you." On impulse, he leaned close and kissed his daughter on the cheek, then hefted Rhianna up onto his hip, not wanting her to get jostled by the crowd.

Rhianna was bigger than the last time he'd carried her like this, but not much heavier. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and rested her head on his shoulder, still clutching his dagger in one of her fists, a trickle of blood - the werewolf's blood - running off of the blade and down onto her wrist.

Eleanor was applying a bandage to a wounded guard, and when she saw Loghain approach with Rhianna in his arms, relief flooded her face. She finished with the guard, then turned to Loghain.

"Blessed Andraste!" she exclaimed, putting her hand on Rhianna's shoulder. She hadn't yet noticed the wound on Rhianna's arm.

"Eleanor," he murmured, regretting the effect his next words would have. "We a need the healer. Now."

She looked more closely at her daughter, noticing the tourniquet and the blood staining the sleeve of her gown. One of the teyrna's hands flew to her mouth, and the color drained from her face.

"All right. I'll find Geoffrey, and we'll meet you in the library." With a worried glance at her daughter, Eleanor hurried off to find the mage.

Loghain eased his way out of the crowded hall, and made his way to the library. Setting Rhianna down on a cushioned bench, he knelt in front of her.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm all right. My arm hurts a bit." Her voice was small and hollow. "But I don't feel . . . strange at all. Or different, in any way."

Loghain took the girl's face between his hands again. There was fear in her eyes. Fear he knew was reflected in his own. So he closed his eyes and leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and they sat together without talking. All the things he could think of to say could wait until later. Right now, the silence was comforting.

The quiet was broken when Eleanor arrived, rushing into the room with a thin blonde man in robes beside her, and a woman in templar armor close behind.

"What happened? It's not . . . she's not badly injured, is she?" Eleanor sat on the bench beside her daughter, as Loghain pulled himself up from the floor and sat on Rhianna's other side, making room for the mage to kneel in front of the girl. The templar, a dark-skinned woman with an expression like stone, took up a position near the door and watched in silence.

"We were right beside the stage when the attack happened. Bryce was with us, but one of the creatures knocked him back and broke his leg, so he asked me to get her back to the castle. The main road was blocked. Rhianna got us through another way, but before we could reach the main gates, we were ambushed by five of those . . . creatures."

"I saw one of them." Eleanor's voice was brittle. "Are they really werewolves?"

"Yes."

"They said they were looking for me," Rhianna murmured. "But they didn't want to kill me. They wanted to turn me into . . . one of them. They wanted to turn me into a werewolf." Her lower lip quivered, but her eyes remained dry. "Teyrn Loghain killed them all, but one of them grabbed me first. Grabbed me and bit my arm."

"Bit your arm . . . Oh, Maker, no." Eleanor put a hand over her mouth, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

Seeing her mother's reaction, Rhianna sobbed once, and tears began to stream down her face. "I'm sorry, Mother. I'm sorry! I didn't mean for it to happen."

"Oh, darling." She pulled her daughter into her arms. "Of course you didn't. This isn't your fault. You're going to be fine. Do you understand? You're going to be just fine."

"Eleanor," Loghain urged. "The healer needs to look at her wound."

"Of course. I'm sorry, Geoffrey." She released her daughter, and the mage reached up to untie the tourniquet. Loghain eased the dagger from Rhianna's fingers, then used it to cut away the sleeve, exposing the bite on her arm.

Geoffrey examined the wounds, turning Rhianna's arm to and fro, using the discarded sleeve to wipe away the blood so he could better see the bite marks.

"The wounds themselves are not serious. They're clean puncture marks, no tearing. I can heal them, probably with no scarring at all." The mage looked into Eleanor's eyes. "But I don't know what to do about any . . . infection the bite might have conveyed. As far as I know . . . there is no cure."

Rhianna whimpered once, and began to inhale and exhale quickly through her mouth.

Loghain nearly swore aloud, as anger exploded inside of him. If only he could go back in time to the moment of his mistake, the moment he had turned to the left, instead of the right. If only he had a second chance, he would kill them all before they could get close enough to touch her. Damn it. Damn it all. He'd failed her. Rhianna trusted him, and he had failed her. He hadn't been strong enough, fast enough, smart enough to protect her from this.

Heaving himself to his feet, he crossed the room and began to pace, too furious with himself to sit still. He wanted to punch something hard enough to break the bones in his hand and make his knuckles bleed. He wanted to bash in the skulls of every one of those Maker-damned creatures. He wanted to strangle the life out of them with his bare hands and mutilate their dead bodies. If even a single werewolf remained in Highever, he would find it and he would kill it.

"Teyrn Loghain," Rhianna called to him from across the room. "Please, Teyrn Loghain." She sounded scared. More scared than he'd ever heard her before. "Please come sit with me."

He stopped pacing, trying to control his breath, trying to slow the racing of his heart. Rhianna's face was pale, her eyes the same shade of green they'd been when he'd pulled her out of the dungeon. Lighter, translucent, more brilliant than usual. It was a beautiful color, but he hated it; he'd only ever seen her eyes that color when she was unhappy, when she'd been crying.

She reached out to him, and he rushed to her side. Taking her hand in his own, he put an arm around her waist. He could feel her body trembling as she rested her head against him.

"Perhaps it would be best not to heal it, then?" Eleanor asked. "If there's some chance that might seal the infection inside. Perhaps we can try to clean it first, purge the wound of any . . . taint?"

"That might be possible," Geoffrey admitted. "I honestly don't know. I will write to the First Enchanter and see if has any information that can help her, knows of anything that can be done. Certainly, there's no harm in leaving the wounds as they are for now, cleaned and bandaged of course. If the message goes by horse, we could have a response in just a few days. In the meantime, giving her a hot bath and soaking the arm in mineral salts couldn't hurt."

"Yes," Eleanor agreed. "I'll do that."

Geoffrey got to his feet, and crossed over to the desk, where he began penning a letter.

Loghain nearly offered to take the message himself . . . but no. He had business in Highever tonight. As soon as Rhianna was settled, he would gather a party of guardsmen and scour the city for any of those creatures that might remain. When he discovered where they had been hiding, he would make certain none of them would ever see another cycle of the full moon. Along with those Maker-damned "Custodians," if they shared any responsibility for this attack.

"I'm going to find someone to deliver a letter to the Circle." Eleanor's voice shook as she rose from the bench. She laid a hand briefly on her daughter's head. "Then I'll take you upstairs for a bath, and bed. All right, darling?"

"Yes, Mother."

A moment later, Rhianna and Loghain were alone again, or might as well have been, with the mage scribbling away at the desk, and the unsmiling templar standing silently by the door.

Rhianna's fingers tightened around Loghain's hand. "Don't be angry at yourself. Please. It's not your fault. You were magnificent. There were just too many of them, and I wasn't fast enough to get away. The stupid dress tripped me. Please don't blame yourself."

How had she known what he'd been thinking? And how could she offer him absolution for this? Of course it was his fault, and he would never forgive himself if . . . well, there would be time to think about that later. Now, he needed to come up with some way to respond to her words, to her generous and wholly undeserved words.

He took a deep breath to calm himself as he stared into her eyes.

"You did well tonight, fighting against them." It was the truth. She'd been brave, had stood her ground and fought back when they attacked. Rhianna Cousland was a true warrior. "And no matter what happens," he leaned closer to catch her gaze, "you will never be alone. Do you understand me? Never."

She stared back at him, then nodded. She understood what he was telling her. Even if she turned into a werewolf, Loghain would never abandon her.

"I'm so scared," she whispered. "I don't want to turn into one of those . . . things." Loghain pulled her closer, releasing her hand to stroke her hair as she sobbed quietly into his shoulder.

They remained like this until Eleanor returned. A young girl in leathers was with her: the messenger, who was out the door again in less than a minute on her way to Kinloch Hold, with the letter from Geoffrey.

"Let's get you into bed, darling." The teyrna's voice was calm, but trembled as though she struggled with the effort. She offered Rhianna a hand, and the girl took it.

Somewhat reluctantly, Loghain released his hold on Rhianna. What if . . . something happened to her. What if this was the last time he ever saw her . . . like this? He forced those thoughts away, not wanting risk any of them showing on his face.

She hugged him tightly and pressed her lips to his cheek before following her mother out of the library. Before turning the corner into the hallway, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. The fear in her eyes, the way her bottom lip trembled, the way she tried to smile at him in spite of it all . . . these things, he would not soon forget.

"The little Cousland girl? Is she going to be all right?" For the first time, the templar spoke. Her expression was softer, worried. "She's . . . well, I don't really know her, but it seems she's a sweet girl, isn't she? I hope she's going to be all right."

Geoffrey, who had been sitting at the desk, staring at his hands, looked up. "We'll do everything we can for her, Lara. I swear it."

"Good," she replied, before falling silent again.

"Are there maps around here somewhere?" Loghain asked, addressing the mage. "Maps of the castle, and Highever town?"

"Yes, of course." Loghain followed the mage to a corner of the library, and together the men pulled down several rolled up parchments, as Loghain searched for the information he needed. The werewolves had not been present during the performance, and then had shown up very quickly. They had to have come from somewhere. Somewhere in the city . . . perhaps tunnels underground.

Before he'd found what he was looking for, a clatter of footsteps on stone announced the arrival of more people: Bryce Cousland, his leg in a splint, supported by a pair of guards. They were accompanied by Ser Gilmore, and an armored man Loghain recognized as the captain of the Highever city guard. The guards eased Bryce down onto the bench where Rhianna had been sitting just minutes before, and Ser Gilmore motioned for the healer to tend to the teyrn.

"Loghain." Bryce gave him an exhausted smile. "Thank the Maker you made it back. I trust Rhianna is all right?"

Loghain hesitated. "Rhianna is here in the castle. Eleanor just took her up to bed."

Something in Loghain's tone caught Bryce's attention. "Did something happen? Was she injured?"

Loghain held Bryce's gaze, taking a deep breath before answering. "She was bitten, Bryce. By one of those . . . creatures."

"Bitten?" Bryce's eyes grew wide with horror.

"Yes. On her arm. The bite itself wasn't serious."

"But those were werewolves . . ."

"Your healer has sent a message to First Enchanter Irving. Hopefully there will be some way to counteract an infection, if she did contract one."

"Maker's blood. It really was her they were after, wasn't it?" Bryce rubbed a hand across his face, looking as though he had aged ten years in the past few minutes. "Thank you, Loghain." He closed his eyes for a moment before continuing, "Thank you for bringing her back . . . alive."

Again, Loghain cursed himself for his mistake. If only he'd been able to keep Rhianna from being bitten in the first place. How had he been so stupid, failing to see that the damned creature was making a feint? His instincts should have been better than that, used to be better than that. But he would make this right. By all that was holy, if there was anything he could do to make this right, no force on earth would stop him.

"Pardon me, Your Grace," Geoffrey interrupted. "But I'm going to heal your leg now, if that's all right?"

"Yes, please." Bryce sat quietly while the mage spoke soft words. A sphere of blue light emerged from his palms and drifted like smoke over the place where the bone had broken. The light disappeared gradually, flowing into Bryce's leg as if sucked from the air by the wound. Bryce shifted, stretching his leg once, then again, then sat up to test whether or not he could put weight on it.

"Yes. That's good. Thank you, Geoffrey."

The mage bowed and backed away, and he and the templar left the room.

Bryce leaned forward and put his head in his hands for a long moment. Finally, he looked up.

"What are we going to do?" His voice was ragged. "If Rhianna's really been . . . infected? In spite of their long history here, I don't know anything useful about werewolves. That is what we're dealing with, isn't it? Werewolves? Real ones, not something out of a story."

"Yes,." Loghain replied. "It looked that way to me." Loghain turned to address the armored man. "Ser, you are the captain of the Highever guard?"

The man stepped forward, but before he could reply, Bryce spoke. "Yes, I apologize for not making an introduction. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, this is Ser Torvik. He is indeed captain of the city guard."

Loghain nodded a greeting, then asked, "Do you know how the attackers got into the city?"

"Yes, Your Grace. Well, sort of." Torvik was of average height and compact build, with ruddy skin, short blonde hair and a closely-trimmed mustache. "We believe some of them came up from underneath the city. There is an extensive network of tunnels, and a few of the creatures were seen coming up through storm drain grates, or other entrances leading underground. But," he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, then back again, "it was clear that a great many of them did not come up that way. That they were already in the city." He ran a hand across his short-cropped hair. "I know how this will sound, Your Grace . . . but most of them seemed to just . . . appear in the midst of the crowds. As if they transformed right there, on the spot, as soon as the performance ended."

"Yes, I saw something like that myself." Loghain turned to Bryce. "The one that attacked you. I looked around and suddenly there was a werewolf where there had not been one before." He paused. "Are there maps of these tunnels? I want to go down there, tonight, right now. Make certain there are no more of these creatures anywhere in, or near, Highever. Assuming this meets with your approval, Bryce?"

"Yes," Bryce agreed. "It most certainly meets with my approval. Let's start aboveground, then search the tunnels. And once we've cleansed Highever, we'll move on to the rest of the Coastlands."

"Your Grace?" Ser Gilmore's voice was tentative. "Are you certain you're leg is healed well enough for that?"

"My leg is fine." Bryce turned to Torvik. "Will you start organizing your men, guards, as well as some of the Regulars? Into four groups, I think. One to cover the area underneath the castle, one for the docks, one underneath Old Town in the east, and one for the western half of the city proper." To Loghain, "Does that sound reasonable?"

"Yes."

"Well, then," Bryce got to his feet. "Let's do this."

•o•

"This looks like the place."

Loghain stopped in front of a storm drain and glanced at the map in his hands. Yes, this was the entrance Ser Torvik had suggested they use to enter Highever's underground.

It hadn't taken long to organize an effort to hunt down the remaining werewolves; after the shock and horror of the initial attack wore off, there had been no shortage of volunteers. Leonas Bryland and Nathaniel Howe, Alfstanna and Irminric Eremon, Loren and Dairren Blaydon, along with Fergus Cousland, of course. Anora wanted to join them, but Loghain managed to convince her that her calming presence would be put to better use at the castle assisting Eleanor, especially in light of Rhianna's injury.

Of course, Maric and Cailan had insisted on being included, and even though Loghain wasn't pleased with them exposing themselves to danger, he had no luck convincing them to stay behind. He did insist they split up; Maric would stay with Loghain, while Cailan accompanied Ser Torvik, exploring what Loghain hoped would be the relatively safe area directly beneath Highever Castle. Everyone else was divided among the remaining groups of city guards and regular soldiers, and they all headed into the city, heavily armed and equipped with torches and maps.

Loghain and his party had already searched above ground in the western section of town, finding nothing but corpses. It was time to venture into the tunnels underneath the city.

The storm drain's iron grate was pushed to one side, and a ladder hung into the damp blackness below. On closer inspection, there were tufts of animal fur caught between some of the bars; apparently, at least one werewolf had entered the city this way.

"Keep your eyes open," Loghain warned. "These things die relatively easily, but they are large, and fast, and can cover more distance than you might imagine. Don't let them get too close, and avoid being bitten. And you," he muttered to Maric, "Don't leave my sight."

"Yes, Ser!" the king responded, with an exaggerated crossed-arm salute.

Down below, the tunnels were chilly and damp. The only light came from the torches they carried, and flickering shadows that danced and bobbed created the illusion of things moving in the darkness. There was an odor of stagnant water and musty earth and decay. Loghain had no idea when or why the tunnels had been built, but it appeared as though they had been in disuse for a very long time.

Loghain consulted the map. He intended to head west and south, as he had a theory he wanted to test. The mapped tunnels did not continue beyond the city limits, but Loghain suspected it was merely the map, and not the tunnel system itself, that ended at the edge of town.

As they moved through the passage, the sound of water was constant; sometimes a slow drip, sometimes an incessant trickle from somewhere above. It wasn't loud enough to cover the sound of an enemy's approach, however, so it was fairly easy to ignore. As was the occasional rat that darted across the path.

"It's been a while since we've been on a real adventure like this, hasn't it?" Maric whispered, his voice sounding entirely too excited. "You and I. Looking for werewolves. This seems more important than any of the things we do sitting around the throne room in Denerim, doesn't it? And maybe we'll find a way to help Rhianna. I really hope we can." He paused. "We will be able to help her, won't we?"

Maker's balls. Loghain had forgotten about Maric's inability to keep himself from chattering endlessly. Well, of course Loghain hadn't forgotten. He experienced it most days, first hand. But this was the first time in recent memory it had been inappropriate, rather than just vaguely annoying.

"Maric, please. We need to listen for anyone lurking in the shadows. But yes, I hope we will find a way to help her."

They came to a crossroads. After glancing at the map, Loghain pointed down the tunnel to the right. "That way, the tunnel should dead end soon, underneath the old granary. Ser Jana," he addressed a tall, solid woman who was a member of the Highever Regulars, and whom Loghain had assessed as having a good head on her shoulders, "I'd like you to take half of our group down the tunnel and verify this is the case." He showed her their location on the map. "It doesn't look as though there is any place where a cluster of werewolves could be hiding, but keep alert, nonetheless. When you've made sure there is nothing in that direction, meet us back here."

Ser Jana nodded, and started down the tunnel, with three others in tow. "The rest of us," Loghain continued, "will turn left here. This appears to be another dead end, assuming the maps are accurate."

"Do you really think the werewolves have been living under the city all this time?" Maric asked in a whisper that echoed off the walls as they made their way through the tunnel. "Certainly, there is plenty of room down here, but doesn't it seem strange in all these years, no one would have seen them?"

"Just because no one reported seeing werewolves here," one of the Regulars murmured, "doesn't mean no one saw any. Maybe everyone who's seen one was killed. To keep the secret." The man stopped talking, then added, "Your Majesty," as though he'd only just remembered he had addressed the King of Ferelden.

"Good point. But still. That many werewolves - how many were there, anyway? I must have seen nearly a dozen myself, and I know there were others all over the city. How can that many werewolves just hide?"

"Maric. Be quiet." The king's question was reasonable, but Loghain needed to listen for movement around them.

"Oh," Maric breathed. "Of course. Sorry."

Around a bend in the passage, they found their way blocked by heaps of rubble: a cave-in that happened some time ago, judging by the look of things. Here, for the first time, they saw signs of inhabitation. Filthy wadded up blankets and discarded clothing lay in piles along the walls, along with cups and cutlery, and the remains of a fire in the center of the space.

According to the map, the tunnel should have extended a short way further, but there was apparently no way to access it; there was a small opening in at the top of the piled up rocks, but it was not large enough for even a child, let alone a werewolf to pass through.

"What do you think about this?" Maric asked. "Perhaps this is where the werewolves have been living?"

With the tip of his sword, Loghain poked at one of the sodden bundles of clothing, then examined the floor for footprints. All the tracks appeared to be human. No, this place stank of poverty, not the strange scent of werewolves, the odor Rhianna had noticed in the hidden chamber at Thornhill, and that Loghain smelled on the creatures that attacked them tonight.

"These things were left here by people, not werewolves."

A few minutes later, they rejoined Ser Jana and continued down the main tunnel, which led nearly due west. Soon, the main passage ended, with tunnels leading off to the right and to the left. According to the map, the right-hand passage would likely dead end very soon, while the tunnel to the left continued farther. Again, he sent Ser Jana and her group off on their own down the dead end, while he led the others in the direction he assumed would go through.

At a fork in the tunnel, Loghain turned left, toward the city proper and the castle. Again, the passage was deserted, with no evidence anyone had passed this way in some time. It was, perhaps, a sign of Highever's prosperity that its underground was so empty of people with nowhere else to shelter themselves.

Glancing at the map, he saw they were past the point where this tunnel _should_ have ended. That was curious. It certainly didn't look as though this section was any newer than the part they'd just traveled through, so why wasn't it drawn in? He heard a noise up ahead: a sharp clattering sound that echoed through the passage, and then something that might have been muffled voices.

Everyone in the party moved forward with even more caution until flickering lights appeared ahead. Damn. That meant their own torches were probably visible to whoever was approaching.

Loghain motioned to one of the archers, a petite red-haired woman. "Will you scout up ahead, and let us know the source of those lights? If they're hostile, don't engage them; just report back."

She nodded, and hurried off, completely silent. Loghain gestured that they should retreat down the path, just enough so the torchlight was no longer visible.

A few minutes later, she returned, no longer making the effort to hide the sound of her footsteps. The torchlight behind her was growing steadily brighter.

"It's the prince, ser," she reported. "Prince Cailan, and Ser Torvik." Another of the scouting parties? Then these tunnels connected in a way not shown on the map.

Loghain led his group up the tunnel, and soon the two parties approached one another, nodding their greetings. In addition to Cailan, Nathaniel Howe was with them.

"Well met, Your Majesty, Your Grace," Ser Torvik said.

"I thought you were searching underneath the castle?" Loghain asked.

"We were. And found a tunnel not on the map, and decided to explore. And ended up here."

"Yes, this section isn't on our map, either."

"Have you seen any of the creatures?" Maric asked.

"No," Cailan said, sounding disappointed. "Nor any people, either. Nothing of interest at all, really. It's been rather dull."

Loghain took a moment to study the map, memorizing the location of this tunnel so he could pencil it in back at the castle. Then, they bid Ser Torvik and the others farewell, and each group returned the way they had come. At the place where this tunnel joined with the main passage, they waited for Ser Jana.

She appeared a few minutes later. "We saw two of the creatures, Your Grace," she reported. "As you said, they die easily under a blade. They were in a locked room, but I don't think they were living there. Just taking shelter when they heard us approach. That's how it looked to me, anyway."

Together, they continued to the west, along the final stretch of tunnel drawn on Loghain's map. They had gone only a short distance, when Loghain felt resistance against one of his boots, accompanied by a soft "click." Without thinking, he leapt backwards, pulling Maric along with him. A moment later, a deafening flurry of rubble and rocks came crashing down from above: a trap, its tripwire triggered by Loghain's boot.

"Is everyone all right?" A chorus of responses indicated no one had been injured. They were fortunate in that, but even so, Loghain cursed himself for being careless. Assassination attempts aside, it had been quite some time since he'd found himself in a genuine life-or-death situation. Clearly, he needed to increase his level of awareness.

There was not enough rubble to fully block the path, and it was short work to make the tunnel passable again. They had, however, made enough noise to alert everyone in a rather large radius of their presence. Unfortunate, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

They continued west, and just as shown on the map, the tunnel terminated in a dead end. But something about the stone wall looked odd. It wasn't quite the same color as the walls of the tunnels through which they had just passed. And an inspection of the dirt floor revealed a number of unusual footprints, including some that were padded and clawed.

Maric grabbed the torch from Loghain's hand, and looked more closely at the wall. "Is it my imagination, or does this look a bit . . . wrong?" he asked. Maric examined the wall, running his hands over the stone, probing with his fingers into crevices. He pushed gently in a slight depression, about seven feet above the floor. As had happened at Thornhill, a section of wall slid open with a grating sound.

Maker's balls. The man had a knack for finding hidden entrances.

Maric turned to Loghain, a triumphant grin on his face. "I'm getting good at this, aren't I? Here," he handed Loghain the torch. "After you."

They entered the unmapped section, which seemed to be heading generally west, although it bent and curved occasionally. After about ten minutes, Loghain stopped and consulted the map. They were far beyond the point where the map of the tunnels had ended, but in his mind, Loghain overlaid this map of the Highever underground with the map Rhianna had showed him the previous day when she was explaining where the Alamarri ruins were located. If memory served, they were now directly underneath the hills that separated the ruins from Highever Castle. What had Rhianna said? _T__hey're actually very close to the castle as the crow flies, on the other side of the highlands. If we could go straight through, it would only take a few minutes to ride there._

"Maker's blood," he swore softly. "We _are_ going to end up back at those damned ruins."

A sound rang out in the tunnel ahead of them, the sound of wood on stone, perhaps the slamming of a door. Weapons drawn, they continued to a place where two tunnels branched off the main passage, one to either side. Loghain had tucked the map into his pack; it was useless now. But judging by the number of turns the tunnel had made, Loghain wagered the path continuing straight would lead to their ultimate destination.

He sent Ser Jana off to the right, and led his own group to the left. The tunnel soon ended, widening into a round alcove into which three wooden doors were set, all of them closed.

"Which one should we try first, Maric?"

"Hmm." Maric rubbed at his chin. "The one in the middle." Loghain stepped forward and tried the handle, but the door was locked. As he didn't share Rhianna's skill at lockpicking, and didn't have the patience to see if one of the others did, he stepped back and kicked at the door handle. With a sharp "crack," the door splintered, and swung open into a room lit by torches.

The room had three occupants: a woman holding a bastard sword, a man in long robes who began gesturing with his hands, and a werewolf who lunged toward the door.

"MAGE!" Loghain warned, stepping back and out of the doorway. "Take him down first!"

Making sure Maric was behind him, Loghain waited for the werewolf to emerge into the hallway. As soon as the beast cleared the doorway, Loghain attacked before it had a chance to leap at any of his party. With so many of them in such a tight space, Loghain was unable to bring his arms up to fully swing the sword. Instead, he stabbed forward, trying to impale the creature. The werewolf leapt to one side, dodging the attack. Loghain stepped sideways, wanting to keep himself between the creature and Maric without blocking the archer's view of the mage.

Loghain dodged a swipe of one of the creature's long arms, as two of the Highever guards rushed past to engage the humans still inside the room. A blinding flash of light lit up the hallway. Trying to avoid being hit with the spell, the archer threw herself to one side. Loghain stabbed again at the werewolf, this time managing to pierce one of its furred haunches. The creature snarled, and lunged forward, snapping its jaws, but Loghain ducked out of the way. Stumbling, the creature struggled to recover from its unsuccessful attack.

Maric darted into the space Loghain had vacated, slashing his sword at the creature and opening up a gash along its side.

"Maric!" Loghain bellowed. "Get back!" The werewolf, angered by Maric's attack, turned away from Loghain. It snarled and pawed at the floor with one foot, then charged. Maric's eyes grew wide as he brought his sword up to shield himself from the attack. The werewolf batted the sword aside as though it were made of wood. With a sweep of its other arm, it sent Maric backwards against the wall. He crumpled to the ground and laid still.

Saliva dripping from its jaws, the werewolf took a step toward the king.

"Come and get me if you dare!" Loghain shouted, banging the pommel of his sword against his shield. The werewolf swiveled its head in the direction of the sound. Loghain rushed forward, smashing his shield into the side of the creature's face, following quickly with a downward slash of his sword. The blow tore through the flesh above the creature's shoulders, and it howled, lashing out with its claws. Dancing backward, Loghain avoided being hit.

The werewolf lunged forward, jaws snapping. Planting his feet on the ground and bending at the knees, Loghain let the creature's own momentum slam it up against the shield. The werewolf was knocked back a half step, losing its footing in a slick puddle of blood on the floor.

Giving the beast no time to recover, Loghain charged, swinging his sword at the werewolf's neck. A loud "crack" sounded through the hallway as the creature's neck snapped, though the blow failed to sever its head. The werewolf fell to its knees, howling and clawing at the air, then slumped to the ground. It twitched a few times before laying motionless.

"Maric!" Loghain dropped his sword and hurried to his friend's side.

Still slumped against the wall, Maric opened his eyes and blinked up at Loghain. "I'm all right. Just had the wind knocked out of me. Go help the others."

Loghain stood, and helped Maric to his feet. Judging by the quiet in the room nearby, the guards had dealt with the two humans.

"Does it seem strange to anyone else," the red-haired archer asked, "the werewolf hadn't attacked those two people? As if they were . . . working together. Is that possible?"

"The Custodians of the Wolves," Maric replied. "Those people, they must have been Custodians." When he saw the frown on the young woman's face, he explained, "The Custodians are a secret organization that formed in the Black Age to protect and avenge the werewolves. I expect they were involved in the attack earlier this evening."

Yes, Bryce had been right after all; it certainly appeared as though the Custodians were still active in the Coastlands.

Not for long, though. Not after tonight.

After making certain no one had sustained any serious injuries, Loghain searched the room. A locked drawer in the desk - opened easily with his sword - revealed a sheath of papers that looked like they might be of interest. He shoved them into his pack, to study later. There were also a few small glass vials containing a shimmering dark blue liquid; they went into the pack as well. Otherwise, there was the expected assortment of clothing and weapons, but nothing else that seemed of particular interest.

There was nothing of use in the other two rooms either, and as they prepared to return down the tunnel, he glanced at the werewolf on the floor, laying in a pool of its own blood, gleaming teeth peeking out from its opened jaws. A werewolf . . .

That seemed important, somehow.

"It didn't turn back into a human," Maric said, echoing Loghain's own thoughts exactly. The two men looked at one another, and glanced at the other members of their party, but no one had anything else to add. None of them had any idea what significance this might have.

Loghain led the way back to the main tunnel, where Ser Jana and her team were waiting.

"We found no one, Your Grace," she reported. "Just some rooms that looked like they were being lived in, and I found this book," she handed Loghain a leather-bound tome with mold stains on its binding, "but there didn't appear to be anything else useful."

All together once again, they continued down the main tunnel, trying to move as silently as possible. Every so often, they came upon a door that opened off of the tunnel. Each was inspected; most were empty, but two of them contained werewolves who were readily dispatched.

Judging by the distance they had traveled, it seemed they must have crossed under the hills above, assuming his guess this would lead them back to the ruins was correct.

They came to yet another door, this one locked. When Loghain kicked it in, they discovered a lone woman lying on the bed, as though she had been sleeping. One of her arms was bandaged; most likely she had been wounded in the chaos earlier in the city. Shaking her head as if to clear it, she leapt from the bed. A longsword lay on the table, and she began to reach for it, but then seemed to change her mind, and ran instead to the desk in the far corner of the room. She pulled a small vial out of a drawer, identical to those Loghain had found earlier, and pulled out the stopper. Putting it to her lips, she drained the entire vial in one swallow.

Her head twitched to the side, once, twice, a third time. Then, as Loghain and the others watched, her body began to shudder violently. She cried out, her eyes squeezing closed and her mouth twisting as though she were in great pain. Panting heavily through her open mouth, she shuddered again as her skin began to darken in color. She moaned, and her eyes flew open; they had changed color, the irises now yellow and seeming to glow from within.

A moment later, the rest of her face began to change. Her nose pushed forward into a dog-like snout, her jaws lengthened, her teeth elongated and formed sharp points at the tips. Shaggy fur sprouted from her face and head, as the muscles in her arms bulged outward and her fingers merged to become paws. Sharp claws broke through the skin, and her clothes began to tear at the seams as she grew taller and broader. By the time the shredded scraps of fabric fell to the floor, the figure standing before them was a woman no longer, but a werewolf.

Snarling, it leapt up on the table, sweeping its gaze across the intruders. Loghain motioned for everyone to move back into the hallway, forcing the creature to come out where they would have the advantage of space and numbers. It howled, then hopped down from the table and stalked through the door. Both archers aimed and fired, one of the shots going wide, and the other hitting the creature's arm, but not lodging itself deeply enough to do real damage. The beast tossed its head, snarling, and brushed away the arrow with one of its paws. Crouching low, it glared at the woman whose arrow had struck home, and growled, a rumbling sound deep in its throat.

Again, Loghain made certain he was positioned between the creature and Maric. The red-headed archer fired again, the arrow piercing the flesh just below the creature's collar bone. The werewolf shuddered from the impact. Loghain took the opportunity to lunge forward and hit it across the face with his shield. Simultaneously, Ser Jana stabbed the creature in the shoulder. The werewolf whirled around to face Ser Jana, but its movements were clumsy, as if it were still disoriented from the transformation.

Sensing the creature's hesitation, Ser Jana stabbed at the center of its chest. The werewolf swung one of its arms, but Ser Jana leapt back to dodge the blow. Another of the Regulars rushed forward, sweeping his sword across the back of the werewolf's legs. The beast crashed to the ground, whimpering in pain. Using its forelimbs, it tried to crawl away, but again Ser Jana was there. One final blow to the back of the creature's skill, and it fell limp onto the ground.

Almost as soon as life had fled the creature's body, the reverse transformation began. Shaggy fur retreated back into the skin. The snout flattened, revealing the woman's face. Limbs twisted and shrank until they appeared human once again. In less than a minute, a woman lay on the ground, naked, blood still oozing from the wounds that had killed her.

"What in the name of the Black City just happened?" Maric stared at the dead woman, looking vaguely nauseous. "A potion? Some magic that allows the werewolves to control their transformations?" He turned to Loghain. "Did you know such a thing was possible?"

"No."

"But if there's a potion," Maric continued, "if it's possible for them to change at will, why in the world would they remain in hiding? They could live among the rest of us, and just . . . not transform."

"Perhaps," the red-headed archer suggested, "they can only remain in human form for short periods without taking more of the potion. Or perhaps it's difficult to make, or requires rare ingredients? They might not be able to use it all the time."

"True," Maric replied, but he glanced up at Loghain with an expression that was easy to read. If there was a way of controlling the transformation, it might be of use to Rhianna.

Yes. If such a potion existed, Rhianna would have it. Bryce Cousland was a wealthy man with the resources to procure it no matter how difficult or expensive. Anything, for the well-being of his daughter. And if it were a matter of seeking out hard-to-find ingredients, Loghain himself would sail around the world if necessary, to find them and bring them back.

Loghain stepped around the body, and entered the room. The vial lay on the floor where she had dropped it. Lifting it to his nose, he sniffed the opened end. It smelled like lyrium and blood and flowers; not an unpleasant odor, but somehow disquieting. In the desk, he found three identical vials, all of which went into the pack with those he had discovered earlier.

"You know what else is curious?" Maric mused. "That some of them stay in wolf form after they die, while others transform back."

"The same thing happened with the werewolves Rhianna and I fought in the city," Loghain confirmed. "Four of them reverted to human shape; only one did not."

"Perhaps it has something to do with the potion," Ser Jana suggested. "We know this one used it, and she turned back into human form. Perhaps the ones who remain wolves aren't using the potion for some reason."

"Possibly," Loghain agreed. "With any luck, we'll be able to get more answers after having a mage look at those vials we've found."

Again, they continued down the passage. Unless his sense of direction had failed him entirely, they should be nearly underneath the ruins by now. Sure enough, as they continued around a bend in the tunnel, they came to its end. A large wooden door, much like the one Maric found the previous day, was set into a stone archway.

"Ser Jana," Loghain whispered, "I want you up front with me, and the others right behind. Archers at the ready. Maric, you just stay out of sight."

Loghain tried the handle; surprisingly, it was unlocked. No sounds from the other side gave any indication of what lay beyond. He turned the handle and pulled open the door, standing behind it to shield himself from any attack.

When no attack came, he eased his way around to peer into the room. He had expected a round chamber, but this room was square, about thirty feet in length. A large wooden table dominated the center of the room, and behind it stood a thin, balding man wearing elaborately embroidered robes. An apostate mage. Two other humans - a man in leathers and a woman in chainmail - sat on either side of the mage. Behind them, five werewolves shifted restlessly on their feet, as though only barely restraining themselves from making an attack. The room appeared to be both a meeting room and living space; in addition to the table, bookshelves and a large desk stood against one wall, with a row of beds along the other.

Loghain adjusted his grip on the pommel of his sword, but the mage did not appear to be preparing to cast, nor did any of the others make any threatening movements.

"Please come in," the balding man said in a rich baritone voice. "We have no wish to fight you, if such violence can be avoided."

Loghain motioned for Maric to remain out of sight; no point in advertising the fact that the King of Ferelden was one of the members of their party. He indicated that two of the guards should stay behind with the king, while Ser Jana and the others accompanied him into the room.

"Good." A thin smile crossed the man's face as he gestured that they should come closer. "And welcome. If I'm not mistaken, you are the Teyrn of Gwaren, are you not? Loghain Mac Tir. It is an honor to meet you, ser. A bona fide hero."

"You have me at a disadvantage, then," Loghain replied. "As I have no idea who you are."

"Ah, of course. My apologies. An introduction is in order. My name is Everen Kochin, and I am the leader of the Custodians of the Wolves. I trust you have heard of our organization?"

"I was recently made aware of the Custodians, yes. Although many believe your order died out long ago."

"Oh no," Kochin chuckled, a sound that was not reassuring. "We are still here, as ever. And here we will remain until our mission is complete."

"Your mission?"

"To avenge our ancestors and friends. The werewolves who were persecuted for deeds over which they had no control. For the innocent who were banished from their homes, torn from their families. Killed, in cold blood, by the townspeople who once claimed to be their friends, their kin. For the werewolves who still survive to this day, banished from society, forced to live in hiding and constant fear."

"Fear?" Loghain's eyes narrowed. "Don't you have that the wrong way around? This evening, it was your 'friends' who terrorized the people of Highever."

"Of course the werewolves are capable of destruction. But only out of self-defense. They have been persecuted, mercilessly. Surely, you can see that?"

Five werewolves and three humans, one of them a mage. Not the best possible odds in a fight. Not yet. Probably best not to argue until Loghain could figure out a way to improve those odds.

"I don't deny the werewolves have suffered," Loghain replied. "That still doesn't explain what you hoped to gain by attacking the city. By attacking innocent people who have never seen a werewolf in their lives." The image of Rhianna, blood soaking into her sleeve, came into his mind. "By targeting the Cousland girl." He worked to keep his expression neutral. "So much time has passed, perhaps you could have convinced people to allow the werewolves back into society. But after last night? That's not going to happen anytime soon."

"It wouldn't have happened at all," the woman at the table retorted. "Humans, they think of the werewolves as beasts, but they are the ones with no compassion, with no forgiveness."

She glanced at Kochin, and he gave her a warm smile before turning his attention back to Loghain. "This is true. Humans would never just allow werewolves to rejoin their society. Not without some incentive." He smirked. "That's why we went after the Cousland girl. We never had any intention of killing her. But if she were to be transformed into a werewolf? That would force her father to deal with us in a more equitable manner."

"Clearly, you know little about Rhianna Cousland," Loghain replied. "The girl has a great affinity for animals, and could have been a powerful ally if you'd wanted to make some sort of peace. But now? Judging by her father's mood last time I spoke with him, all you accomplished tonight was enraging him enough to ensure every werewolf in the Coastlands - and all of the Custodians as well - die swift but painful deaths."

"Ah . . . then she was bitten?" Pleasure was barely concealed in his voice. "I had hoped as much, but sadly no one who returned this evening could be certain of what happened to the girl."

"Yes, she was bitten. And if she was infected, I can assure you no good will come of it for you or your friends. Even if there is a cure that allows the werewolves to control their transformations."

"A cure? What are you talking about? There is no cure, nor is there any way for the werewolves to control their transformations . . ." His brows lifted. "Oh! You mean the Elixir of the Wolf. A dark blue potion?"

"Yes."

"Ah, well, sadly, that has no effect on true werewolves. It is something that we, the Custodians, use to give ourselves the power of the werewolves for a short time."

"The potion . . . transforms you into werewolves?"

"Not really, no. We don't become actual werewolves; we only take on their characteristics for a few hours. Even so, it's quite . . . exhilarating. Running as fast as the wind, with the strength of ten men. The freedom, the power. Truly exhilarating." The man chuckled. "You should try it sometime. You could try it right now, if you like." He pulled a small vial from a pocket in his robes. He extended his arm, offering it to Loghain.

Loghain sheathed his sword, and unstrapped his shield and slung it on his back, then stepped forward to claim the vial. Unstoppering the lid, he sniffed at the liquid inside. Yes, this was the same mixture the woman had imbibed.

Replacing the stopper, Loghain handed it back to the mage. "No thank you. I've seen enough bloodshed tonight. That is what your potion encourages, is it not?"

The mage shrugged. "It is true, it enhances the bestial nature of the person who transforms. We are all just animals, when it comes down to it. The elixir merely allows us to . . . express these qualities without inhibition. Really," he urged. "I am a good judge of people. I'm certain you would enjoy this. A great deal." A crooked smile spread across the man's face.

Loghain ignored the remark. "Is this, then, why some of the creatures who attacked Highever returned to human form after they were killed? And others remained in beast form?"

"'Creatures' is such an unfriendly word, don't you agree?"

"Is that why some of the werewolves returned to human form?" Loghain amended, keeping his voice calm.

"Yes. True werewolves do not revert back."

The creature that had attacked Rhianna had gone back to human form. Which meant he was a Custodian.

"Do those under the influence of this elixir have the ability to infect those who are bitten?"

"No, the elixir does not confer the full powers of the werewolf. Only the form, the speed, and the fury. Unfortunately, we are not able to pass along the werewolves' blessing."

Thank the Maker. Rhianna was in no danger of being infected. Loghain exhaled and closed his eyes briefly, as relief flooded him.

Kochin cocked his head to one side. "You know this Cousland girl personally, don't you?"

Damn. He should have worked harder to keep his expression neutral.

"What about them?" Loghain nodded toward the werewolves prowling the back of the room. "Are they . . . genuine? Or transformed Custodians?"

"All Custodians, I'm afraid. The number of genuine werewolves has diminished dramatically. And so many were lost in tonight's battle. Of course, they do have ways of recruiting new members."

Good. There was no danger of any of his people being infected. That improved the odds, although he was still concerned about the fact this Kochin was obviously a mage, and the strength of even the false werewolves was formidable.

"So, what is it you want?" He hoped his tone conveyed a willingness to negotiate. "Do you intend to continue your attacks on the people of Highever, or did you accomplish your goal during the festival? I hope the fact you've invited us to parlay means there is a chance we can reach some kind of accord?"

"What do we want?" Kochin scoffed. "Haven't I already explained that? We want freedom for the werewolves. We want revenge on the Cousland family for the persecution they have wrought over the years. I invited you to parlay because it is clear you are capable fighters, and the Custodians are few enough in number - and werewolves far fewer - that I would prefer there be no more blood shed." He shrugged. "I suppose the only thing I want from you right now is for you to turn around and walk out of here. I could offer good coin if I thought it would entice you to leave without revealing our location to the Highever guards, but I suspect you, in particular, would not be swayed by such an offer. Although," he glanced at the other soldiers alongside Loghain, all of whom wore regulation armor, and were clearly not knights or elite guards, "I suspect some of your companions wouldn't say no to some easy gold."

Ser Jana stood a bit straighter, and glared at the apostate, but two of the city guards shifted uncomfortably. Yes, they probably could have been bought under different circumstances, but it was unlikely they would be stupid enough to switch sides now.

"In any case," the apostate continued, "what I am asking is for you to turn around and leave. By the time you make your way back to the castle, we'll be long gone. You will never have to set eyes on us again."

"And what about the Couslands?"

"What about the Couslands?"

"Do you still intend to target them? To try and infect the girl?"

Kochin snorted. "This week? Not likely. I can't promise we will never make another attempt, though." The man's eyes narrowed, and he chuckled. "Oh, you do know the girl, don't you? I wonder . . . just _how_ well do you know the little Cousland girl?" The man winked.

Loghain chose to ignore the man's comment, in favor of a question that had just occurred to him.

"The inn keeper. A man called Farr. Did you have something to do with his death?"

"Breyton Farr?" The apostate blinked in surprise, not expecting the sudden change of subject. "Yes. That was . . . regrettable. We . . . we require lyrium, in small amounts, for the elixir. Farr was supposed to procure some for us, but the transaction was . . . interrupted. And sometimes my friends become agitated, and it's difficult to reason with them. If you know what I mean."

Well, at least that was the answer to one mystery. Well, more than one, really. And probably, this conversation had run its course. It was time to end this.

"All right. We'll leave," Loghain said simply. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Ser Jana; he'd chastise her later for that. Assuming any of them made it out of here. "But I want the details about that elixir, and how to make it. And I want a promise from you. A promise you will not harm the Cousland girl at any time in the future." He caught the other man's gaze. "As it so happens, I have other plans for her." He raised an eyebrow to make his meaning clear.

Kochin laughed, throaty, rich laughter. Yes, of course the man readily believed Loghain had lecherous designs on Rhianna. The corrupt are always so willing to believe the worst in others. "Fair enough. You can have the girl. I can't say I blame you. I saw her performance. She is a pretty little thing. Rather spirited, too. Perhaps we'll target her brother instead. Or his young son. At any rate, I suppose there's no harm in showing you the formula for the elixir. Here. Come."

The mage crossed to the desk, indicating Loghain should follow. Loghain turned his head just enough to signal Ser Jana with a wink so she would be ready. Keeping his hand hidden from view, he drew his dagger and held it down at his side.

_Please Andraste, let us get out of here alive._

Kochin opened the wooden cover on the desk, and shuffled through a pile of parchments. Pulling one out of the stack, he turned to Loghain, smiling.

"Here. The formula for the Elixir of the Wolf. I am quite serious, my friend. You really should give it a try."

"And _I_ am quite serious, my _friend_," Loghain said calmly, reaching out with his left hand toward the parchment. "You should never have threatened Rhianna Cousland."

Instead of taking the parchment, he grasped the front of the man's robes, pulling the apostate close and sinking his dagger into the man's belly. He yanked upward, making a wound that would be fatal in a very short time. Kochin's eyes grew wide, and before he could even begin the words of a spell, he slumped over onto the desk. Stupid man. The Custodians harmed Rhianna; none of them would be allowed to live.

Loghain released his dagger, reaching for his weapon as chaos erupted across the room. With the sword raised above his head, he lunged at the woman who had been seated at the table. She managed to unsheathe her blade in time to parry his blow, and he moved around behind the table for a better angle of attack. Ser Jana had already engaged with the man in leathers who had drawn a pair of daggers as he'd risen from the table. Simultaneously, the werewolves leapt forward and the rest of the soldiers drew their weapons. The three who had remained in the hallway, including Maric, damn him, rushed into the room. All around was noise: shouting, snarling, the scratch of claws on stone, and the wet thunk of weapons against flesh and bone.

The woman swung at Loghain, but he blocked the strike with his sword. Before she'd recovered from her swing, he lunged forward to slam his shoulder against her body, and she fell backwards against the table. He slashed at her again, but she rolled out of the way, avoiding the blow. Pushing herself away from the table, she stabbed at him. Loghain tried to dodge the blow, but the point of her blade slipped in past his armor at the elbow joint. Grunting from the pain, he pulled back a step. Bringing his sword arm up, he sliced down at her neck. The sound of her collarbone snapping echoed through the room. Moaning, she whirled around, trying once more to deal some damage, but she was unable to lift her arm enough to swing. He kicked her legs out from under her, then finished her off with the point of his sword to her throat.

He looked around for Maric. The king was near the door, sword drawn but not actually engaged with any of the beasts. Good. Loghain began to work his way in that direction.

Across the room, one of the werewolves sprinted toward the red-haired archer. She fired a shot at the creature, knocking it back for a moment, but then it continued toward her. Loghain charged in that direction, but before he could get close, the beast pounced on her, ripping into woman's throat, then howling in triumph, spraying blood into Loghain's face. She crumpled to the ground, clutching at her throat as if she could press the flesh back together to save herself.

"Die, blast you!" he shouted, as his sword sliced through the werewolf's neck, silencing it forever. The creature slumped down, falling on top of the archer. With an airy, gasping sound, she tried to push the furred body away with her hands, and with her legs. Loghain grabbed it by the shoulder, and pulled it off of her, dropping it roughly to the ground. The archer - he'd never even known her name - smiled up at him for one brief moment, before her head fell backward, and the life dimmed from her eyes.

Cursing, Loghain turned and headed toward Maric, who had just stabbed one of the creatures and had a rather elated smile on his face. Loghain swung at the werewolf Maric had been fighting, and the creature growled, swiping a paw at him. Loghain leapt back, and Maric swung, his blade cutting into one of the creature's arms. The werewolf snapped its head to one side, then back again, and snarled, clearly unhappy to be facing two foes. Loghain took the opportunity to stab into one of its flanks.

Maric leapt forward, skewering the creature again, then glanced over at Loghain, grinning. Loghain couldn't help but return the smile. It had been a long time - many, many years - since they'd fought like this. It felt good to be fighting alongside Maric again. He also had to admit that fighting - actual fighting, tearing through enemies rather than sparring on the practice field - was exhilarating in way few other things could match.

In a few very minutes, the werewolves - or, rather, Custodians - were outnumbered and outmatched, lying dead on the floor. Except for the archer, the rest of his party was intact. A few of them – himself included - were bleeding from various injuries, but none immediately life-threatening.

They searched the bodies of Kochin and the two armored humans. There was no point in searching the Custodians; they had all reverted back to human form, and were naked, with no clothing to search. In the desk, they did find some valuables: a fair amount of coin, some jewelry, and more papers to review back in the comfort of the castle. Loghain also retrieved the formula for the elixir from Kochin's dead grasp.

Maric came up to Loghain, clutching at his arm. "This means Rhianna . . . she's going to be all right, yes? She was bitten by one of the Custodians, and not an actual werewolf?"

"She was bitten by one of the Custodians, yes. There is no chance she was infected."

"Oh, Blessed Andraste!" Maric's face broke out into a joyous smile. "That is the best news we could possibly have found!"

Yes. It was. Loghain would never have said it in such an exuberant manner, but was absolutely the best news they could have found.

A door set in the wall opposite where they entered caught Loghain's attention, and he went to investigate with Maric and two of the guardsmen close behind. It was unlocked, and lead to a short section of tunnel. At the other end, a wooden panel was set into the wall. Loghain stepped aside to allow Maric to examine it; sure enough, the king found a trigger. He pushed it, and the panel slid to one side, revealing an entrance to the round chamber they had found the previous day.

It was a good thing Rhianna had been nervous enough to suggest they leave right away. If they'd discovered the hidden door, and found their way into the headquarters of the Custodians, just the three of them? That could have been bad.

Very bad.

Loghain wished they could leave this way, go up through the short section of tunnel and out into the moonlit night, rather than making their way back through the dreary underground tunnels. Walking around the hills, however, would take hours, and Loghain wanted to return to the castle as soon as possible.

He had excellent news to deliver to Bryce and Eleanor. And, of course, to Rhianna.

•o•


	20. They were called the Night Elves

_**1 Cloudreach, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Highever Castle**_

•o•

Someone screamed. A woman, perhaps, or maybe an animal, but whatever it was, the sound was high-pitched and ear-splitting and Rhianna wanted to be away from it. She ran and she ran, smoke in her nostrils and a sword in her hand. She was fighting, always fighting, monsters, that just kept coming. As soon as she'd killed one, another one appeared. A never-ending stream of monsters, horrible things, their grinning mouths filled with pointed teeth. And there was so much blood, and the city was burning and ashes floated in the air like unholy snow and then the shadow of something huge and terrifying blocked out the sunlight all around her, and she knew what it was, but she didn't want to look. Maybe if she didn't look at it, she could pretend it wasn't real, except she knew she had to fight it. If she didn't fight it, she would die. Everyone would die. Then something rushed at her, and grabbed her arm, and she cried out from the pain . . .

"Rhianna."

She opened her eyes. She was in her bedroom.

It was dark in the room except for a candle on the bedside table. Loghain was sitting beside her, his face in shadow, until he turned slightly, and she could see his vague frown, his furrowed brow.

She'd been asleep, and it had all been a dream. There were no monsters, nothing was burning. Except . . .

Last night, something _had_ been burning. In town. And the pain in her arm hadn't faded when she woke up, so it must not be part of the dream . . .

The memory of the previous evening came flooding back: the performance, the screams, running through the city, being bitten by the werewolf, Loghain pacing in the library looking like he wanted to murder someone. She sat up in her bed, rubbing at her eyes. Or had all that been a dream, as well?

"Are you all right?" Loghain asked. "It sounded as though you were having a bad dream."

She reached out and put her hand on Loghain's arm, wanting to make sure he was real and this wasn't just some new dream. His arm was solid and warm beneath her hand, and she let out a breath.

"A bad dream . . . yes. There were monsters . . . but what about last night? Did I dream all that as well, or were there really werewolves?"

"That wasn't a dream. There were werewolves."

"Oh." She had hoped so much that had been part of the dream. Because one of them had bitten her, she remembered that very clearly now. And Geoffrey said there wasn't any cure. Her stomach lurched, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, feeling as though she needed to vomit.

A werewolf. She was going to turn into a werewolf.

What would happen to her now? How long would it take until she . . . changed? And where would she go? She couldn't imagine staying here, in the castle. No one would be safe from her; she might attack and kill everyone if they didn't protect themselves. Perhaps they would lock her up down in the dungeon. Locked away, for the rest of her life, in a tiny, dark cell, just like the one in the guard tower . . .

She whimpered, breathing quickly, terrified.

Loghain reached up, and tugged her hand away from her face, taking her other hand as well. He held them both gently, urging her to look at him. "It's all right, Rhianna. I know what happened last night was frightening, but that's why I'm here. I have something to tell you about the werewolves. Your mother said it would be all right for me to wake you."

"Something to tell me?"

"Yes." He smiled at her, just the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, but it looked genuine. He looked calm, and content. The crease in his forehead, the sadness and fear she'd seen in his eyes last night when they sat together in the library, were gone. But how could he be happy right now? Didn't he care about what was going to happen? Maybe he was just pretending not to be upset, for her sake.

"What is it?" she asked. "Do you . . . do you know how long it will take before I turn into one of them?"

"You're not going to turn into a werewolf, love. Not ever. That's what I came here to tell you."

"But one of them bit me. I know that wasn't part of the dream; my arm still hurts from it."

"You were bitten, yes, but not by a real werewolf." He squeezed her hands again. "Listen. After you went to bed last night, several of us - me and Maric, your Father and your brother, and a great many others - went into the tunnels underneath the city to make sure there were no more werewolves lurking. Maric and I found their leader, who told us that hardly any of the creatures who attacked last night were truly werewolves. Most of them were people who'd taken a potion to make themselves look like werewolves. It was one of those people who bit you. He wasn't a genuine werewolf, so he couldn't infect you. You're fine, Rhianna. Just fine."

She stared into his face, afraid to blink. Afraid that if she looked away, something would change, and she'd find out she'd misheard him, or misunderstood somehow. He looked sincere, and his voice had been warm and gentle. It sounded as though he was telling the truth, and she wanted to believe him.

But how could she possibly believe? Not that Teyrn Loghain would lie to her; she knew he would never do that. But what if he was wrong? What if he just wanted it to be true so much he believed something impossible?

"But why would anyone take a potion like that?"

"That's a good question. And I'll explain all the details later, but there is a group of people called the Custodians of the Wolves, and they've been trying to help the werewolves all these years, ever since your ancestress defeated them. They're the ones who decided to take this potion. I know it might sound strange, but it's true. And the most important thing for you to understand right now is that you are not in any danger, not anymore. They won't come after you again. And you're not going to turn into a werewolf."

She kept looking into his eyes. He meant what he was saying, she could see that. And if they'd really found some sort of potion, then maybe it was true. Somewhere inside of her, a spark ignited. A tiny spark of hope that maybe this horrible thing wasn't going to happen.

"I'm really not going to change? Do you promise?"

"I promise."

With those words, she knew. The spark inside of her ignited, and she felt . . . free. As though she had been choking, but could now breathe again. As though a load too heavy to carry had been lifted off her shoulders.

She wouldn't become a werewolf. He was telling the truth. Loghain would never promise if it weren't the truth.

She laughed, even as tears formed in her eyes, and she threw her arms around Loghain's neck, hugging him tightly. After a moment's hesitation, he returned the embrace, pulling her close, then reaching up to stroke her hair.

"Thank you," she whispered into his ear, "thank you." She clung to him for more than a minute, tears crawling down her cheeks. Then she hugged him even more tightly before pulling away.

She looked up at him, at this man who had always been there for her, every time she had needed him. She studied his face: the line of his jaw, the slight bump at the bridge of his nose. His eyes, deep set and shadowy, but shining from within, a blue so light in color it seemed almost impossibly bright. He was as important to her as anyone had ever been, and she was overcome by gratitude, deep gratitude for his presence in her life. She didn't know why Andraste or the Maker had sent him to her, what she could ever have done to deserve him, but she was so glad he was here.

Loghain reached up and wiped away one of her tears with his thumb. Then, he reached down into his boot and pulled out his dagger. The same dagger he had handed her the night before when they'd been in the market square. He turned it over, inspecting it from both sides. Then, holding it by the blade, he offered the handle to her.

"Here. I want you to have this."

"What? What do you mean?"

He snorted. "Was I unclear? I'm giving you this dagger. To carry with you all the time. You can wear it in your boot, and I'll have a sheath made that will strap to your leg, so you can wear it under a gown, as well."

"But . . . but that's your dagger, the one you always carry. You've had it as long as I can remember. It's the one you used to cut the bandage for my arm when I fell on the glass all those years ago."

"I can get a new dagger. But you shouldn't be out on your own without some way to defend yourself. This is a well-crafted weapon, and will serve you for many years. Besides, you fought well with it last night. I think it belongs with you now."

Maker's breath. He really intended for her to have it. Biting her lip, she reached out and took the dagger. She turned it over, looking at it as he had, then she bounced it gently, testing the weight. It felt wonderful in her hand; perfectly balanced, and heavy enough to do damage, but not so heavy it would be uncomfortable to hold. And it was beautiful. The blade gleamed red, and the wooden handle was black, shining deeply with a patina created by years of use. Set at the bottom of the blade, right next to the handle, was a small square of metal with a design carved into it, like flames and lightning flashing underneath a full moon.

"Thank you, Teyrn Loghain," she murmured. "It's really beautiful. I'll carry it with me always."

"Good." He paused. "And you're right. I have had it for a long time. It's . . . special to me. Which is, perhaps, the reason I want you to have it now. The man who gave it to me was a good friend. One of the Night Elves. I trust you've heard of the Night Elves?"

"Of course." She knew all about the Night Elves. They fought with the Rebels during the Occupation, planning surprise attacks, and running away again before the Orlesians could respond. But she stopped herself before saying any of those things. Instead, she smiled shyly, "I mean, I've heard of them. But I don't know so much that I wouldn't mind hearing a story."

"You want a story? Right now?"

"Well, I suppose I don't mind listening, if you're in the mood to tell one."

She bit her lip, putting on the most innocent face she could manage, looking up at him through her lashes, but she couldn't sustain it for long. When she grinned, Loghain burst into laughter.

"If I'm in the mood? Oh, very well. Let's see . . . the Night Elves. I think I'll tell you about Fort Gherlen. Have you heard this before?"

"No." Rhianna adjusted her position, crossing her legs beneath her so she could sit comfortably while he told the story.

"All right." He took a deep breath. "At the beginning of the Rebellion, not many elves had joined with Prince Maric. There were a few camp followers and messengers, but since elves living in an Alienage were not allowed to own weapons, most of them lacked the sort of fighting skills that would have been useful against the Orlesians. Hand-to-hand fighting is all well and good, but not against chevaliers. So, many of them chose to remain in the cities. To be honest, life in the Alienage was not much worse under Orlesian rule than it had been before. Elves have never been treated well by humans, regardless of politics."

"I've never been inside the Alienage in Highever. Father says it's not safe."

Loghain raised a brow at her. "I've not been in your Alienage, either. But I doubt you'd be in much danger. Generally speaking, elves have suffered at the hands of humans far more than the other way around. Not that I'm suggesting you go out of your way to pay a visit, not if your father has forbidden it. But . . ." He looked as though he was going to say something more, but then shook his head.

"Anyway, early in the Rebellion, most of the elves chose to remain in the cities. But the few who decided to leave began to trickle into the Rebel camp. They kept to themselves, mostly, making camp at the very edges of wherever we were hiding at the moment.

"One day, not even a year after I'd first met Maric, I was in the woods looking for game, when I heard someone coming up behind me. I very nearly fired an arrow into him, but fortunately realized in time he was not Orlesian, but an elf. As a matter of fact, it was someone you've met before."

"Someone I've met? But I don't know any elves other than the ones who work here in the castle."

"What about Uthalas?"

"Your footman?"

"Yes, my footman. But also my friend. He had a favor to ask of me that day. He asked if I would be willing to train him, and the others, how to shoot a bow. So they could be of some use in fighting the Orlesians."

"So of course, you agreed to train them."

"Yes. We started that very day. Only six elves had joined the Rebellion by then, and they all wanted to learn. They were a dedicated bunch, and after training every day for a couple of months, they were shooting as well as most of the human archers. I soon realized they had an advantage over the humans. Elves can see very well in the dark. Much, much better than we can. They can hunt and track on a moonless night, or sneak through the darkest dungeons without need of torches. So, when they were ready to try their skills against the Orlesians, I thought we'd try something new. Instead of putting them with the rest of the archers, we formed our own company, designed to carry out attacks in the dark of night."

"That's why they were called the Night Elves?"

"Exactly. At first we raided supply caravans and ambushed scouting parties. It was easy enough for us to hide up in the hills, or in the forests, and rush in to do as much damage as possible before retreating back to safety. Sometimes we snuck near their camps and targeted their night watch. We didn't win battles this way, but we were able to wear away at them, and every little bit helped. As word of their success spread, more elves joined the Rebellion. The ranks of the Night Elves began to increase, until there were about three dozen, men and women both.

"Less than a year after they started calling themselves the Night Elves, we decided it was time to try something more daring. Something . . . significant. We looked to Fort Gherlen. You know of it?"

"It's in the Frostback Mountains, near the border between Ferelden and Orlais. I've never been there, though."

"Fort Gherlen was built in the Black Age, to ensure Gherlen's Pass would be kept safe for travelers. At the start of the Occupation, it was one of the first places that fell to Orlais; they wanted to have free access through the pass.

"But over time, they became overconfident, believing their stranglehold on Ferelden was so tight they could neglect their defenses. We received some intelligence the fort was no longer properly manned with soldiers. It was capable of supporting hundreds, but only seventy or so were in residence. Even under-staffed, it had ample supplies for several times as many soldiers. Arms and armor mostly, but stockpiled foodstuffs, as well. And, most important, the chevaliers had horses, which we needed desperately. So, we formulated a plan to take back the fort."

"What, all by yourselves? Just the Night Elves? Not the whole of the army?"

"Just the Night Elves. From the army's camp near the Southron Hills, we took the King's Road to the far side of Lake Calenhad. From there, we knew we couldn't travel straight up Gherlen's Pass. Orlesian patrols were frequent, and we would never have made it anywhere near the fortress without being seen. So, instead we climbed Sulcher's Pass, then cut through the Frostbacks themselves, picking our way through the mountains so we could approach the fort undetected.

"The terrain was dangerous, to say the least, especially off the main road. It was early in the spring, and the ground was covered in snow and ice, so we had to be careful not to step somewhere the ground wasn't solid. If one of us were to slip? A fall down the mountain would most likely have been fatal. Wild animals roamed freely. Mountain lions and packs of wolves. Bears who had recently come out of hibernation. All of whom were hungry because most of the game had gone to lower elevations.

"After about a week, we came to a place where the cliff face was completely vertical. I thought this was the end of our gambit. If we couldn't find another way through, we'd have no choice but to turn around and go back, or spend Maker-knows how long searching for an alternate route.

"Then one of the elves, a woman called Alenil, suggested we climb the cliff. From the bottom looking up, it seemed impossible. But she swore she would find a way up. Alienage elves may not know how to use weapons, but they often learn many other valuable skills: moving silently, getting away quickly. And how to climb just about anything. All Alenil needed was someone to agree to be her "anchor:" to follow her up, and hold tight to the wall in case she slipped and fell. Since I was by far the biggest of the bunch, I agreed.

"We tethered ourselves together with rope, with enough slack between us so she could climb ahead, finding the best hand- and footholds. Then, up we went. Every step, every foot of progress we made up the cliff, was a small victory, as she felt with her fingers for a crevice deep enough to grasp, and tested each foothold to see if it would carry her weight before committing to it. I came up behind, using the route she had forged, constantly reminding myself not to look down for fear of getting dizzy and losing my balance.

"Though she was doing the bulk of the work, I was exhausted. I wasn't accustomed to this much climbing, and the thin mountain air made it difficult to get a breath. Before we'd made it halfway up, my shoulders ached, my fingers were sore, and my shirt was soaked with sweat in spite of the chill mountain air. But she showed no signs of tiring, so I kept going as well.

"She was nearly to the top when she stopped, then looked back down at me. 'I have to come down a ways,' she called out. 'I can't find anywhere to go from here.' I steadied myself, and watched as she backtracked down the face of the cliff, feeling with her feet.

"Then, I heard it: the soft crack of rock splitting apart. Alenil cried out in panic as the thin shelf of rock she was standing on crumbled beneath her. For the space of two breaths, she clung on with her hands, scraping desperately with her feet to find another foothold. There was nothing, though, nowhere for her toes to cling.

"And she fell."

"No!" Rhianna gasped. Her hands clenched into fists, as she gripped the blanket that covered her legs.

"Yes. I watched her fall, her arms stretched above her head, her feet still flailing. She screamed, the sound growing then fading as she fell past me, a mere three feet from where I clung to the cliff. Almost as an afterthought, I pressed myself as tightly to the mountain as I could, bracing myself for the impact.

"When she reached the end of the tether, her body slammed against the cliff face, silencing her scream. One of my hands was ripped from its hold, and Alenil's weight seemed to be sucking me downward. We were so high above the ground that we would both have been killed if I'd lost my grip. I thrust my body forward to bring my arm in front of me again, and I managed to regain my hold of the cliff. Clinging tightly with my aching fingers, I prayed to Andraste for the strength to hang on.

"And somehow, I managed to hold tight. Alenil swung gently at the end of the tether, and for a few minutes, I did nothing more than cling to the cliff side, not knowing if she was alive or dead.

"Finally I felt a tug on the rope as she began to move. After struggling a moment to regain her footing, she looked up at me, her breath coming fast, and she nodded. Just once, but I knew. She meant to finish this. I nodded in return, letting her know I was with her all the way.

"She began to climb again. This time, she made it to the top, and I followed. She'd injured herself in the fall; there was a gash on her arm, a lump on her head, and a large bruise on one of her legs, but nothing that wouldn't heal with time. We secured ropes for the others to climb. It was nearly nightfall before everyone had scaled the cliff, but we made it. Thanks to Alenil's bravery."

"Thank the Maker you all made it." Rhianna relaxed her hands, unclenching her fingers and letting loose her hold on the blanket. "That was close. Too close."

"It was terrifying," he admitted. "I had nightmares about it for months afterward." His brow furrowed, then he chuckled. "To be honest, climbing the cliff is the most exciting part of this story. The taking of the fort was dull by comparison. Perhaps I should stop here, and let you get some rest? Especially after all that happened yesterday."

"Oh no, don't stop! I want to hear how you took the fort."

"Oh, all right. If you insist. Well . . . we continued through the mountains, finally coming up on a ridge right behind the fort. It's worth noting that Fort Gherlen is one place where the Orlesians undoubtedly felt safe. The fortress consists of two huge square towers surrounded by a walled courtyard, with battlements atop all the walls. It's not large, as fortresses go, but it is solid, and very easily defended. In addition to the building's own defenses, it was built at the very top of a mountain, surrounded on all sides by a steep drop off, except for the bridge that crosses the ravine to the mountain pass. The only way in or out - or so it seemed - was through the portcullis that was heavily guarded during the day and closed securely at night."

"You climbed up the sides, didn't you? You and Alenil? Just like the cliff?"

"Hmnh. Since you seem so certain of the ending, perhaps I really should say goodnight, so you can get back to sleep?" He pursed his lips at her, a slight frown on his face, but this time he was teasing. Even though he didn't smile, not even a little, she could tell.

"You know I haven't heard it before. It's not my fault I'm good at guessing." She giggled. "Go, on. Tell the rest of it. I'll try to be quiet."

He stared for a moment, unsmiling, even though he was always amused by her guessing. "All right." Then he winked. "As it so happens, your guess was close, but not exactly right. We decided that in the middle of the night, six of the elves would climb the sides of the fort. Not Alenil, since she'd been injured. And not me, since I couldn't see in the dark as well as the elves. But some of the others would scale the fort, then sneak down to open the gates and let the rest of us in. With any luck, we'd have the advantage of surprise; most of the soldiers would be asleep so we could get in and take control of the fort before they had time to arm themselves.

"We sat high up on that nearby ridge, hiding just out of site, for an entire day and night, watching to see how many guards were on duty. As it turned out, there were only four: two above the main gate, and one each at the parapets atop the towers.

"On a night when the moon was waning, barely a sliver in the sky, the half-dozen elves who had volunteered to infiltrate the fort began their ascent. The rest of us waited at the far side of the bridge for the signal that they'd made it safely inside. Those minutes were some of the longest of my entire life. Waiting, not hearing anything and not being able to see much of anything in the dark. Straining my ears for any sound that might indicate success, or failure. Dreading that instead of our signal, an alarm would sound, and we'd have to scramble to get away with our lives.

"After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably less than an hour, we finally heard something.

"The howl of a wolf. Or rather, Uthalas, howling like a wolf to let us know they'd made it inside. We crossed the bridge, and a few minutes later, the portcullis opened. It made what seemed like enough racket to wake the dead, but the elves inside had already taken care of the duty guards, and we were inside without any alarm being sounded.

"From there, it was over almost before it had begun. We went room by room, as quickly and quietly as possible, disarming the soldiers who were asleep in their beds, then locking them in where they wouldn't be able to cause trouble. Once we'd dealt with the lower floors, Uthalas himself led the way up the stairs, to the top of the tallest of the two towers, to where the chevalier commander in charge of the fort was sleeping.

"Uthalas pounded on the door, shouting, 'Awake and surrender!'

"'Who dares disturb my rest?' the commander shouted back, his voice thick with sleep and his atrocious Orlesian accent.

"Uthalas called back, 'The Night Elves dare! In the name of Andraste and Maric Theirin, the rightful King of Ferelden!"

"Did he surrender?" Rhianna asked.

"He didn't have much choice, did he? All of his soldiers had been captured, and he was wearing naught but his nightclothes."

Rhianna clapped her hands, as a grin spread across her face. "Well done! Take that, Orlais!"

"My sentiments, exactly," Loghain chuckled. "It was a satisfying victory. Even so, we knew we wouldn't be able to hold the fort. Not permanently. Not with only a few dozen archers. So, we did the next best thing. Before the Orlesians could gather a force to attack us, we transported supplies to nearby Orzammar, using horses we had liberated from the chevaliers. While the Orzammar dwarves weren't willing to take an official stand and fight alongside us, they were happy for us to stow our supplies underground, for a modest share.

"We took all the weapons and armor, and as much food as possible. And, of course, all the horses. Half a dozen horses, which might not sound like many, but nearly doubled the number the Rebels had at that point. What we couldn't take with us, we burned, in a huge bonfire in the middle of the courtyard. We burned the siege weapons. We burned the clothes and furniture and those supplies we couldn't take with us. We burned everything that wasn't bolted down, without damaging the structure itself. The fort was nothing but an empty shell by the time the Orlesians returned to claim it."

"What about the soldiers? The Orlesian soldiers, I mean. Did you execute them?"

"No. We left them locked up in the fort when we retreated, knowing they'd be freed soon enough."

"Even the commander? But wasn't he a chevalier? They did horrible, horrible things."

Loghain was quiet for a moment, looking away as if he were remembering something from a long time ago. Then he shook his head. "No. We let them live. Even the commander. He surrendered and asked for mercy. If we could have taken him back with us to the camp, put him on trial for his crimes, that would have been one thing. But it wasn't feasible. And killing an enemy who has asked for mercy is not the honorable thing to do. So we left him there with the others.

"Although, it is possible he ended up wishing we'd given him a swift death. Meghren was anything but merciful. Not to Fereldans, nor to his own people, if he deemed them as having failed. And I suspect the loss of the fort, especially to a band of elven archers, would be deemed a rather spectacular failure.

"In any case, that's how the Night Elves liberated Fort Gherlen. If only for a few days."

Rhianna uncrossed her legs, and leaned back against the headboard. She stretched her arms up over her head, and sighed contentedly. "That was a good story. I especially liked hearing about Uthalas. I never knew he was one of the Night Elves. What happened to them, anyway? Why did the company disband?"

"They didn't disband, exactly. It's just that at the end of the Occupation, most people went back to the lives they had before joining the Rebellion, or at least tried to salvage what was left of those lives. So most of the Night Elves returned to the cities, although a few of them moved on to other things. Uthalas, for instance, who's been with me all these years."

"It was really heroic, what they did," she mused. "Joining the Rebellion. I think so, anyway. I mean King Maric, well Prince Maric then, he didn't have any choice. He was the heir of Calenhad. It was his duty to fight. But the elves? They could have just stayed quietly in their Alienages. But they chose to fight anyway. That seems very brave to me. Making that choice."

"We always have a choice, Rhianna. Even Maric had a choice, although you're right, his duty did weigh more heavily than anyone else's. Even so, I agree the elves showed bravery above and beyond that of many others. Not that Maric isn't brave as well." He chuckled. "You should have seen him last night. I kept trying to keep him out of danger, but he ignored me and jumped into battle anyway."

"Jumped into battle? Do you mean when you went down into the tunnels? You had to fight more werewolves?"

"More werewolves, yes, and some of the people who were helping them."

"Did anyone get hurt?"

He hesitated. "One person, yes. An archer, one of your father's regular soldiers."

"Who was it?"

"I don't know her name. But she was rather short, and had red hair."

"Oh. You must mean Glenna. I train with her sometimes. But she's all right, isn't she? I mean, Geoffrey can heal just about anything."

"No, Rhianna, I'm . . . I'm sorry. She died during our last fight. It happened very quickly; there was nothing we could do to save her."

"Glenna's . . . dead?" Rhianna felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. Trying to catch her breath, she turned her head away, closing her eyes to force back the tears that formed. "It's because of me, isn't it? That's why you went down there. Because the werewolves went after me."

Loghain grasped her shoulder, urging her to look into his face again. "Your friend is dead because one of those creatures killed her." Loghain caught Rhianna's gaze and held it. "She was a soldier; she knew it was possible she might be injured when she agreed to come. In no way is her death your fault. Do you understand me?"

Still fighting back the tears, Rhianna nodded. "I suppose so. But . . ."

"No. No buts. She fought bravely, and died well. Don't sully her memory by blaming yourself for what happened. We went into those tunnels because we needed to know the truth about what happened in the city. Yes, we went because you had been injured, but not just because of that. The werewolves, and their Custodians, were a threat to everyone in the Coastlands. And now, they won't be a threat to anyone. Not for a good long while, at least."

"This leader of theirs . . . did he they say why they wanted me?"

"They thought if you became a werewolf, your father would be forced to concede to their demands: 'freedom' for the werewolves, and reentry into human society."

"Well, that was a stupid plan. It would have made more sense to kidnap me and threaten to turn me if Father _didn't_ agree to their demands. After I was already infected . . . well, it seems a bit late to try and bargain at that point."

"Indeed," Loghain agreed. "As far as I'm concerned, it was a horrible plan all along. But you needn't worry about it now. Their leader was killed last night, so even if a few of them remain, it will be a very long time before they'd be in a position to bother you or your family again."

"I hope so. And thank you. Thank you for going down there and finding out the truth. I am happier than I can say, knowing I'm not going to turn into one of those things. And thank you for the story. I always love your stories."

"You're welcome, Rhianna. I'd . . . well, I'd do just about anything for you. I hope you know that."

"I do." It was the truth. She'd known it for a long time, really, but after tonight, she would never doubt it again. "I suppose," she mused, "someday what happened last night will make an excellent story, won't it? I'll tell my children about the werewolves, how you and I fought them together. How I thought I was going to turn into one myself. And how you and the king ventured into the underground to find out the truth. And they'll sit on the edge of their seats, and gasp in all the right places, all the while knowing everything will turn out all right in the end, because that's what happens in stories.

"Except everything didn't really turn out all right. Glenna is dead. And no matter how exciting it will sound in the future, it was scary. Not all of it. Parts of it were exciting: running through Highever with you, and watching you fight the werewolves. But mostly, it was terrifying."

"Perhaps that's exactly why it will make a good story," Loghain replied. "I do know one thing. You're right. Someday, your children are going to love hearing that story. Hearing just how brave and heroic their mother is."

"Brave?" she scoffed. "What are you talking about? I'm not brave. I just told you, I was terrified."

"It doesn't matter if you were scared. What matters is you didn't panic. You guided us through the city, and you fought back where you were attacked. You had the nerve to step up and try and reason with those creatures. That's bravery. You were magnificent last night, Rhianna. Truly."

Her cheeks grew warm, and she wanted to turn away, to turn away from his face, from his eyes, but they held her gaze and she found she couldn't look away. It was as if he was willing her to look, willing her to believe this about herself.

And she wanted to believe it, really she did. But she knew it wasn't true. What she'd done the previous night had little to do with bravery. Not hers, anyway.

She wrinkled her nose, and shrugged one of her shoulders. "Of course I didn't panic. But it wasn't because of being brave. I didn't have to be brave. I was with you."

•o•


	21. Words that changed everything

_**3 Solace, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Highever Castle**_

•o•

"Oh, come on," Rhianna pleaded. "Hit me already!" She dropped down into a crouch, ready with her practice sword to parry an attack.

Rory Gilmore swung the waster in her direction, but at the last moment changed the angle of attack so the blade swished by Rhianna's arm without making contact.

"You call that hitting me?"

"My Lady," Ser Gilmore's voice was apologetic, but firm, "I don't think I can bring myself to hit you. It just doesn't seem right."

"But if you won't hit me, I can't train properly!"

"I don't want to risk you being injured."

"I won't be. At least not so badly it would be a problem. What do you think poultices are for? And there's always Geoffrey if I were to break a bone or something. I need you to try and hit me."

"I'm sorry, My Lady. But I just can't."

Rhianna let out a ragged, and very deliberate, sigh. It wasn't as though she never had the opportunity to spar. Several of the Highever Regulars were happy to train with her, and had enough respect for her abilities to give her a good workout. Today, however, when she tried to find someone to practice with, everyone else was busy with other things, and the only person she could convince to accompany her to the practice yard was the ever reticent and respectful Ser Gilmore.

In the far corner of the yard, her new puppy was barking and bouncing around trying to catch his little stub of a tail. Despite her annoyance with Ser Gilmore, Rhianna was cheered by the sight of the pure-bred mabari hound playing so exuberantly.

The puppy, who she had named Dane, had been a birthday gift from her parents just three days ago, and Rhianna was already madly in love with him. And no wonder: Dane was the most adorable creature in the whole world. He had short amber-colored fur and floppy little ears, and a fold of skin on his nose and another above his front legs. His muzzle was dark, and he had mournful blue eyes, although the breeder said they would probably turn dark before he was fully grown. He was small now, not much larger than a house cat, but when he reached adulthood, he would stand at least as high as Rhianna's waist.

Now, Dane was becoming extremely excited at the sight of his mistress playing with the ginger-haired knight, even though he could tell his mistress was not entirely happy with the situation.

A new thought occurred to her. "You haven't forgotten, have you, my father is your liege? I think that means you have to do what I tell you to do."

The knight shook his head. "Nice try, My Lady, but no. It means I have to do what he tells me to do."

"Hmm." She put a hand on one of her hips. "But _that _means if I tell my father to order you to hit me, then you _will _have to do it."

"Begging your pardon, but I doubt your father would actually order me to hit you."

"Don't be so sure," Rhianna insisted. "Because if he doesn't, I'll threaten to run away to Denerim and join Maric's Shield, so I can train with Teyrn Loghain every single day. And whenever I train with the teyrn, I end up covered in bruises. Really big, nasty, painful, ugly bruises."

That was an exaggeration, but only a slight one. Teyrn Loghain _was_ rough on her, and she often had the bruises to prove it. Of course, that was the reason she would rather train with him than with anyone else in the world. Well, one of the reasons, anyway. No one else pushed her as hard, encouraged her to push _herself_ as hard. No one else made her feel she could do things she would have never believed possible. And she knew the reason he was so rough with her, the reason he pushed so hard, was that he believed in her. If she had her way, she really would run off and join Maric's Shield. But since that wasn't possible, she tried to make the best of things here in Highever.

"It's true, Ser Gilmore," she continued. "You know how hard he hits. So you'd be saving me a lot of trouble - and a lot of pain - by agreeing to hit me. If you hit me just a little, I won't have to go to Teyrn Loghain and have him hit me a lot. Not to mention all the fuss it would cause if I were to run away from home. So just spar with me properly. Please?"

Ser Gilmore stared at her, his mouth pursed unhappily, but finally he glanced away and shrugged. "As you wish, My Lady. But if you end up lying on the ground bleeding, I'm going to tell your father it was your own fault."

"Fair enough," she laughed, and dropped into a ready stance, awaiting a blow from the young knight.

They began to circle one another, and Ser Gilmore charged, aiming for her head. Rhianna easily parried the blow, grunting in satisfaction as the vibration ran all the way down her arms. A proper blow. Finally.

She whirled around, preparing for his next strike, but the sound of hoof beats approaching very quickly up the road caught her attention. Turning her head to look, she was caught off guard when Ser Gilmore hit her with his shield. She flew backwards and landed on her rear end.

"Maker's blood!" Ser Gilmore hurried to help the girl back to her feet. "I'm sorry, My Lady! I didn't mean to hit you so hard!"

Rhianna laughed, once she caught her breath. "Don't apologize! It was my fault. I wasn't paying enough attention. Look." She pointed to the road. "A rider."

She crossed to the fence surrounding the practice field and hopped up on the bottom slat to get a better view. Reaching out with her mind, she touched the mind of the horse. He was focused on running as fast as possible, anxious because of the agitation his rider was feeling.

"It must be important." A ribbon of fear, cold and uncomfortable, slithered into her belly. "I hope it's not bad news."

The messenger rode through the main gates of the castle.

Glancing at Ser Gilmore, Rhianna jumped down from the fence and stowed the practice weapons in their crate. She scooped Dane up into her arms and left the practice field at a jog.

Halfway to the castle, she broke into a run.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Standing beside the fire, Bryce stared at the parchment in his hands, reading the words again. Perhaps he had misunderstood them the first time. Or the second. Perhaps his eyes had skipped over some vital part of the message. Perhaps it didn't really say what he thought it said.

But every time he read it, the words were the same. Terrible words. Words that changed everything. Words that were going to break his daughter's heart. Words that were already breaking his own heart.

He looked up as Rhianna raced into the great hall, sliding to a halt at the scene that greeted her. It must have looked dismal. Bryce, holding the parchment, a grim expression on his face. Eleanor, sobbing, with Fergus seated beside her, an arm draped around his mother's shoulder.

"Father?" Rhianna's voice was high-pitched and anxious. "I saw a messenger arrive."

"Yes. There's a letter. From Teyrn Loghain." He ran a hand across his face. "Rhianna . . ." he began, but his voice trailed off.

"What is it? What's happened?" She walked closer, cradling the puppy in her arms. "It's something bad, isn't it?"

"Perhaps you should sit down, Pup," Bryce urged.

"No, I don't want to sit. Just tell me what happened."

"The _Demelza_ . . . the ship taking King Maric to Wycome . . . it never arrived." Maric had been on his way to the Free Marches, to mediate a peace accord between several of the Marcher lords. He was only supposed to have been gone a few weeks, a month at most.

"What do you mean, 'it never arrived?'" Rhianna asked. "Where is it?"

"It looks like . . . well, it looks as though the ship went down somewhere on route, but no one has any idea exactly where that might have happened."

Rhianna inhaled sharply. "The ship went . . . down? You . . . you mean it sank? Teyrn Loghain said it sank?"

"Yes."

"But . . . but what about the king? He's all right, isn't he?"

Bryce closed his eyes briefly before meeting her gaze. "Pup, we don't even know where the ship went down. And no survivors have turned up anywhere."

"Not yet, you mean." Her face had drained of color and her eyes were watery and bright, but her voice was firm. "No survivors have turned up _yet_. But that doesn't mean they won't. Even if the ship sank, King Maric knows how to swim. He's a good swimmer; he would just swim to shore. That's what must have happened. He swam to shore somewhere, and just hasn't made his way back to a city yet, to send word, or . . . or get another ship back to Ferelden. Maybe he's stuck on an island somewhere, waiting to be rescued."

Wycome was only a short journey across the Waking Sea and up the eastern coast of the Free Marches. But the currents in that part of the ocean were treacherous, and unless the ship went down ridiculously close to land, not even the strongest swimmer would be able to make it to shore. The thought that Maric had been this fortunate was appealing, but . . .

"That seems . . . unlikely," Bryce replied.

"But it's possible," she insisted. "You can't tell me it's not possible!"

"Possible, yes," he admitted. "But I think . . . Rhianna, I think it isn't wise to get your hopes up. Not this time."

His daughter's face crumpled. She clutched the puppy in her arms even tighter, pressing her cheek against his fur. Dane responded by licking her hand.

"No," she sobbed, fat tears escaping from her eyes. "He's not dead. He can't be dead. Not King Maric. I don't want him to be dead."

Bryce stepped close, pulling her into his arms, feeling her shoulders shake as she began to cry in earnest.

Abruptly, Rhianna pulled away from him, panting for breath. She scrubbed the tears away with the heel of her hand.

"No. He isn't dead." Her bottom lip quivered, but her voice was steady as she stared into her father's eyes. "I don't believe it. King Maric is out there, somewhere. Alive. We just have to find him, that's all. He isn't dead. I would know if he was dead. I would feel it . . . if he were gone, I would feel it. I know I would."

She stopped crying, but her breath was ragged, and Bryce felt his heart break at the look in her eyes. Never before had he seen her so grief-stricken and fragile. Not after she'd been attacked by the werewolf, not even after she had been locked up in that dungeon so long ago.

The puppy in her arms stretched up to lick her neck and her chin, as if desperate to offer whatever comfort he could to his mistress. She pushed his face away, gently, but then stroked his fur and rested her cheek on the top of his head.

"Pup," Bryce began.

She cut him off. "No. Don't tell me again not to have hope. He's not dead. We just have to find him, that's all. There are ships here at Highever. We'll charter one of them and go looking for him. I'll go with them myself. Find where the ship sank, and the place he swam to shore, and we'll bring him home again. That's what needs to happen."

Maker's blood. She wanted to go sailing off and look for Maric herself? Not that it should come as a surprise; she loved the king. They all did. Rhianna, especially, had been close with him these past few years. Still, there was no chance Bryce would allow his thirteen-year-old daughter to sail off on what would almost certainly be a wild goose chase.

"The royal navy is already out looking for the king," he assured her. "Teyrn Loghain organized an expedition as soon as he heard about the . . . disappearance, and he himself is on one of the ships. You know no one cares more for Maric's safety than Loghain does. If the king is still alive, Loghain will find him."

"I know. But . . ."

She let out a sigh, not bothering to finish her sentence. Her face was tearstained, her mouth pinched in sorrow. He could see she wasn't satisfied. To be honest, he wasn't really satisfied either. He'd felt sick to his stomach ever since the messenger rode into the courtyard at top speed. Not that Bryce believed there was any chance of finding the king. Maric was almost certainly dead. But if there was any chance . . .

"We'll send ships from Highever as well, if you think it would help," he suggested. "But you're not going with them." She opened her mouth to protest, but he added, "I'm leaving for Denerim tomorrow, and you're coming with me. I'll need your help in the city, while your mother and brother stay here to manage the teyrnir. A Landsmeet will be called to decide how things will proceed until . . . Maric is . . . found," he said, even though there was little hope of that happening. What they'd be doing is choosing a new king. But there was no point in saying that to his daughter, not right now.

"All right. I'll come with you to Denerim. But can we go to the waterfront right now? And see about hiring some ships of our own?"

"Of course, Pup."

No ship from Highever was likely to find anything the royal navy couldn't, but if it would ease his daughter's suffering, even a little, it would be a small price to pay.

•o•o•o•o•o•

It was late, almost midnight, when Fergus heard a knock at the door to the room he shared with Oriana and the baby. Cursing softly, he slipped out from under the covers. This had been a trying day. Apparently, it was not yet at an end.

He crossed to the door, the chill of the cobblestone unpleasant under his bare feet.

In the hallway, he found his sister, fully dressed.

"Elsie?" He couldn't keep the annoyance completely out of his voice. "What is it?"

"I need your help with something," she whispered. "Please, Fussy. Just come with me. Please?"

Fergus glanced at his wife's sleeping form, then back to his sister. Whatever she wanted, it must have something to do with King Maric. She'd been devastated earlier, and he didn't blame her. But what on earth did she hope to accomplish in the middle of the night?

"Whatever this is, can't it wait until morning?"

"No, it can't. Please, Fussy." Rhianna's face was pale, and her eyes looked swollen and red. She looked so forlorn, it was impossible for him to say no.

"All right. Give me a minute to get dressed."

"Bring a cloak."

Fergus sighed, but nodded in agreement.

Twenty minutes later, he and Rhianna were on the road leading into town, after sneaking out through the servant's entrance in the kitchen.

"Now will you tell me where we are going?" Fergus asked.

"To the docks."

Fergus grasped one of Rhianna's arms, pulling her to a stop. "The docks? Don't be ridiculous. We are _not_ going out searching for King Maric. Certainly not just the two of us, on the sailboat. Father arranged for three ships to leave Highever in the morning. You know that. Look, Elsie . . . I know you are fond of the king. We all are. But this is going much too far."

"Maker's blood, Fergus! How stupid do you think I am? Of course we're not going out to look for the king. I just need to get to the waterfront and stand on one of the docks for a few minutes. But I was . . . I'm scared to be out here all by myself, in the middle of the night. After what happened at the festival. Please, Fussy. This won't take long at all, I promise."

"What do you need to do at the docks?"

"Talk to the seabirds," she replied. "Ask them to look for King Maric. If I tell them what he looks like, maybe they will be able to find him."

Birds? Did she really say she wants to talk to the birds, and tell them to go find the king?

Maker's balls. Had his sister gone mad? Grief did that to people, sometimes, and she was certainly grieving. But this was possibly the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

Except . . . Rhianna did have an uncanny way with animals. She always had. Over the years, Fergus had seen things almost too strange to be believed. Deer that came close enough to be petted. A fox that held still while Rhianna put a bandage on its injured leg. Birds that flew down and took food directly from her fingers.

At first, it had made him nervous. What if this was magic? The thought his beloved sister might be sent off to Kinloch Hold was unbearable. But she was thirteen years old now; if she were a mage, there would have been other signs by now. So there must be some other explanation for it.

That it was, for example, nothing but her overactive imagination. This seemed the most likely explanation by far. As if seabirds could be convinced to search for the missing king.

It was time to put a stop to this folly, to get Rhianna back to the castle. If their parents found out he'd taken her to the waterfront in the middle of the night, they'd both be in trouble.

He turned to her, ready to insist they go back. He wanted nothing more than to be in his bed, to be back with his wife, who had woken while he was dressing and had not been happy about this unexpected errand in the middle of the night.

But when he looked into Rhianna's face, he felt his resolve crumble. The crease in her forehead, the way her teeth pulled at her bottom lip. The earnest, pleading look in her eyes.

Even if it was her imagination, this meant a lot to her. If it would make her happy, what harm could there be in visiting the docks for a few minutes? And if there was any chance she was right about this, any chance these birds could help find the king . . . that could only be a good thing.

While he wouldn't have admitted it to anyone except perhaps Oriana, Fergus was devastated by the possibility King Maric was dead. In part because he genuinely liked the king. Maric was friendly, and funny, an all-around charming man, and a good king who cared about his people.

And of course, Rhianna cared a great deal for King Maric, and it was obvious Maric cared about her as well. The two of them, along with Teyrn Loghain, spent a lot of time together and always seemed to enjoy themselves. Maric had gone to visit her when she'd been ill with the plague, and had insisted on going into the underground tunnels to seek out the werewolves that had hurt her. Both times, putting his own life at risk. It didn't seem outlandish to think Maric might care about Rhianna enough to marry her once she came of age, and it was difficult to imagine a better future for his little sister. Marriage to a man who could be trusted to treat her with respect and affection, and who was, of course, the King of Ferelden. The thought Rhianna might someday be the queen was somewhat bizarre, but not at all unpleasant.

But neither of those things were the primary reason Fergus hoped King Maric would be found. Something else weighed much more heavily on his mind. Although Cailan was the obvious choice for the succession, not all the nobles in Ferelden would be happy about the prince taking the throne. Fergus had heard whispers: Cailan was not half the man his father was, and ill-prepared to rule Ferelden. Perhaps given time this would change, Cailan would mature into someone fit to rule, but if Maric were really dead, time had run out. This meant there was almost certainly enough support to put forth an alternate candidate. Cailan did, however, carry the Theirin bloodline, which guaranteed any alternate would not easily be confirmed. Put those two things together, and they spelled the potential for an ugly fight. Not likely a civil war, not in the current climate, but ugly nonetheless.

And the man with the next-best claim to the throne of Ferelden was Bryce Cousland.

If Rhianna's crazy plan could locate King Maric - if there was any chance the king was still alive - Fergus was willing to give it a try. Anything to keep his family out of the mess that was sure to break out in the Landsmeet if King Maric was really dead.

"All right. I'll go with you to the waterfront," he agreed.

•o•o•o•o•o•

When they arrived at the docks, Rhianna chose the one that stretched farthest out into the sea, and she and Fergus walked all the way to the end. The moon was nearly full, providing them with plenty of light, which was good. Not that she needed light for what she wanted to do, but she knew the birds didn't like taking wing in total darkness.

"All right my friends. Where are you?" she whispered. Then, she closed her eyes and sent her mind out over the waves. There they were: gulls floating on the water, pelicans roosting on the deck of an abandoned ship, fulmar asleep on the cliffs overlooking the sea.

She called to them. _Please, come_.

She needed this to happen, she needed their help. Since the moment her father had told her Maric's ship had gone missing, Rhianna had felt so terrified, so overwhelmed, so anxious she could hardly take a breath, and her stomach was so tied up in knots she felt faint and fragile, like she might shatter into a thousand tiny pieces at any moment.

King Maric. He was not only her king, but also her friend. She loved him in so many different ways, and couldn't bear the thought something bad had happened to him. That he might have been hurt. That he might be scared and cold and alone. Or worse. That she might never see him again, never hear his laughter, never watch his eyes light up with mischief as he teased her or told a stupid joke.

Then, it occurred to her even if she couldn't go searching herself, she could ask others to do it for her. Birds regularly traversed distances much greater than what she would require. And if the ship had sunk, perhaps they could find some evidence of it. If it was still afloat, so much the better.

_Please, come._

For a few minutes, all was silent, except for the waves lapping at the wooden pilings that vanished into the dark water below.

Then, she heard it. The whisper of wings in flight. She felt a puff of air across her face as a large gull swept past, then glided to land on the dock near her feet. One by one they came, until Rhianna was surrounded by birds. Small gulls gleaming white, and large ones, the feathers on their backs almost black in the moonlight. Pelicans, with their broad chests and stern eyes. A cormorant, holding its wings out at an angle, and twisting its snake-like neck to get a better look at the girl who summoned them here. Guillemots standing awkwardly on feet so brightly colored, the red was apparent even in the moonlight.

Rhianna reached out a hand, holding it in the air above one of the pelicans. The bird lifted its head, pressing its beak against her hand in greeting. She glanced back at Fergus, who stood about ten feet away, at the perimeter of the feathery crowd gathered around her. Fergus' eyes were wide, his brow wrinkled, as though he really couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Turning her attention back to the birds, she spoke to them with her mind. The ship, a caravel that might have sunk in a recent storm. The man, one particular man, who had been aboard that ship, and who Rhianna desperately wished to see again. As she had done with the rat in the dungeon, she pictured King Maric's face in her mind as clearly as possible. One by one, she connected with the minds of the birds, passing the message to each in turn.

"_Please_," she beseeched them. "_If he yet lives, find him and help bring him home safely to Ferelden. Come to me in Denerim, and let me know what you find._"

When it was done, one by one they departed, flying off in various directions, alone, or in pairs or triplets or quartets. Rhianna waved to them, offering thanks as well as goodbyes.

When they had gone, Fergus walked up beside her. "Did that really just happen, or am I imagining things? Those birds . . . all those birds . . . they just came because you called them?"

"You're not imagining things, Fussy. Haven't you ever noticed how much I talk to animals?"

"Yes," Fergus began, still looking a bit stunned, "but I never realized they talk back!"

"Let's just hope they are able to do what I asked of them," she replied, gazing out over the water. "Let's hope they find King Maric."

•o•


	22. There once was a girl from Highever

_**25 Kingsway, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Denerim Waterfront**_

•o•

Sitting on the dock, Rhianna dangled her legs over the edge, peering into the cloudy green water ten feet below. Barnacles clung to the wooden pilings, and a translucent pink jellyfish floated just beneath the surface, a pattern on its bell like two figure eights crossing in the middle. In Rhianna's lap, Dane lay fast asleep, his head and front paws resting on her legs, and his hindquarters flopped onto the wooden dock.

In the distance, a ship lowered its sails, slowing its approach as it glided into port. The sight brought a smile to Rhianna's face.

She had been in Denerim for nearly three months. Three of the longest, saddest, most trying months of her life. The day after they received word about King Maric's ship, she and her father left in a coach for Denerim, and they'd been here ever since. During this time, Rhianna's father spent most of his days with the other members of the Landsmeet, discussing Ferelden's future in the event King Maric did not return. As Rhianna had not been invited to these meetings, she was obliged to find other ways to spend her time.

The best days were the ones she spent with Dane, just the two of them. They wandered the garden of the Highever estate, Rhianna picking late summer flowers while Dane attempted to get into as much mischief as possible. He was getting steadily bigger; he was nearly twice the size he had been when he'd come to live with her, and some days, she thought she could almost watch him growing right before her eyes.

He was a good puppy, mostly, except for being a bit too eager to investigate the larder when the cook's back was turned. He also enjoyed chasing small animals just for the fun of it, a habit Rhianna wanted to break. She'd train him to hunt when he was old enough, but for now, their walks gave him good practice at keeping himself under control around the rabbits and squirrels and chipmunks in the garden.

Other days, perhaps once a week, she was allowed to go to the market square, provided she could find someone - Hobbes, usually - to accompany her. Occasionally, Rhianna bought little trinkets: a new comb for her hair, or a toy to give Oren when he arrived with Fergus and Oriana for the king's coronation. But mostly she amused herself by watching the people. Dwarves from Orzammar, textile merchants from Rivain, a man from the Anderfels who claimed to have holy trinkets for sale, but who would quietly close up his stand whenever a Chantry sister walked past. Elves, who never came into the marketplace alone, but always in groups of three or four. Young children playing "kick the can" or "knights and chevaliers." Rhianna envied them their freedom.

It was frustrating her father still wouldn't allow her to wander the city on her own, even though she was thirteen years old now. Of course she had never forgotten being locked up in that guard tower, a tower she could see from some places in the market square, rising up to the north of the Chantry. And it did cross her mind from time to time that the person who locked her up could still be in the city. Maybe even watching as she wandered through the market. It could be anyone. Someone she knew, or someone she'd never seen before in her life. Those thoughts were frightening, but she wasn't a baby anymore, to be tricked into going somewhere dangerous. And there was the comforting weight of the dagger Loghain had given her, strapped to her leg underneath her gown.

But her father was adamant: she was not to leave the estate without an escort. Hobbes was nice enough though, so it wasn't unpleasant. He was content to follow wherever she wanted to go, assuming he could spare the time away from his own duties.

Those kinds of days – the ones with Dane, or in the market place - were the good days, the pleasant days. Unfortunately, all the other days – at least two or three times a week - involved attending afternoon salons in the homes of other nobles. Over the past few months, her life had become a never-ending stream of these gatherings, which Rhianna loathed.

Salons were an excuse for members of the nobility to get together to socialize, and talk about politics and current events and philosophy and fashion, and gossip about who was to marry whom, and who had gotten too drunk and behaved foolishly at the Gnawed Noble. Inevitably, someone - usually one of the young ladies - would be asked, and graciously agree, to perform on the harp or pianoforte or sing. Afterwards, everyone would eat sumptuous foods, and walk out in the garden of whichever noble had sponsored the event, and drink just enough wine to be charming without losing composure. It was all supposed to be great fun, except Rhianna rarely enjoyed herself at these gatherings.

Salons hadn't always been horrible. In the past, at her mother's side, Rhianna had been allowed to listen quietly to the conversations around her. She learned all sorts of things about politics and human relationships. If she were quiet enough, the adults would forget she was listening, and would neglect to censor themselves, saying some of the most outrageous things, especially after the wine began to flow.

But now, with her mother in Highever and her father busy discussing official business with the other nobles in the Landsmeet, Rhianna had been forced to attend salon after salon on her own.

This, by itself, might not have been so bad. Except that rather than being allowed to sit with the adults, she was inevitably shepherded into the room with the "young people," a domain ruled by Habren Bryland, who was no fonder of Rhianna now than she had ever been. Whenever adults were around, Habren pretended to be so sweet, telling all the women how lovely their hair looked, and volunteering to play the pianoforte and sing. Personally, Rhianna thought the girl sounded like a goose honking in the barnyard, but all the adults clapped politely when she was finished.

But the moment Habren knew she wouldn't be overhead, she was at Rhianna's side, ready with a rude comment. Habren rarely said things directly to Rhianna, instead speaking them to the daughter or son of one of the other nobles, in a whisper just loud enough to be certain that Rhianna would hear.

"Look at Princess CousCous. Does she really think that color looks good with her skin? She looks even worse than usual, like she hasn't been out in the sun in a year. It's a shame; her mother has such elegant taste. Clearly, it didn't rub off on the daughter."

"Well, of course, the Princess never sings. I heard they tried to give her lessons, but _three_ tutors quit, one after the other, because her voice was so atrocious."

"Did you know her father won't allow her out in the city without a babysitter, even at her age? There must be something dreadfully wrong with her."

"I was so glad to hear her parents finally got her a dog. Now at least the little liar will have someone to talk to, since she doesn't have any actual friends."

Rhianna had begged her father to allow her to stay home from the salons, at least until her mother arrived in Denerim, and they could go together. But Bryce had refused.

"Pup, I need you to go to these gatherings. What happens at the Landsmeet is only part of the picture. Lots of things are discussed at salons that are never spoken of elsewhere. I need you to represent the Cousland family at these events, and be my eyes and ears, as your mother would have been were she here. That is, after all, the reason I brought you with me to the city."

"But, Father," Rhianna argued. "I never get to hear anything interesting. The adults talk in one room, and I end up stuck with Habren Bryland and her friends, and all they do is tell me how stupid and ugly I am. All day long."

"Don't exaggerate, Pup. I know you don't get on well with Habren, and you never have. But this is important. And the way you comport yourself at the salons will be noticed. I need you to be an asset to our family, and to the teyrnir. An asset to Ferelden. It is your duty. Do you understand?"

"Yes . . . I understand." Rhianna had promised her father - and herself - she would do her best to be a credit to the Cousland name. And she had attempted to do just that, but she didn't think her efforts were ever going to bear fruit.

The previous day, for example, as soon as none of the adults were within hearing, Habren began reciting a "poem" she had penned:

_There once was a girl from Highever  
__Who would tell all the boys to stop never  
__On her back or her knees  
__She would do as they pleased  
__And she told them to finish "wherever."_

Everyone else had laughed, while Rhianna sat very still, not looking at anyone and biting the inside of her lip to keep from crying. She had wished she could be anywhere else, but knew if she ran from the room, they'd only laugh harder and call her a crybaby. She didn't have any idea what it meant, except it must have been something dirty, judging by the way everyone was laughing, and because it talked about boys.

So Rhianna hated the salons, and wasn't happy with her father for making her attend, nor with herself for letting Habren's petty torments bother her so much. Thankfully, Rhianna's mother was due to arrive the day after tomorrow, so Rhianna would be spared having to attend on her own, for a while at least.

There had been one other thing she had done during these three months in the city: watched for birds returning from the sea. Every morning, she opened her bedroom window and looked to the sky, but none of her feathered friends had returned.

Until today. This morning when she woke, she looked out the window to see a kittiwake perched on the sill, standing on one leg, his head tucked under his wing. She pushed open the sash, to hear his news. It wasn't the thing she most wanted to hear, but what he had to report had made her very happy, nonetheless.

After her father had left for his meetings, she'd taken Dane and snuck out of the house, rules be damned. It wasn't as though anything bad could happen today. She knew exactly where she was going, and she knew she wouldn't have to walk back through the city alone.

Now, the ship drew closer to the dock, and she saw a familiar figure standing on deck, the wind playing through his dark hair. Raising one arm, she waved.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Standing on the bow of the ship, Loghain enjoyed the wind blowing through his hair. He allowed the physical sensation to consume his attention, hoping to drive away the thoughts that plagued him constantly otherwise. Thoughts of Maric and of Cailan and of Ferelden. Of the grief that threatened to overwhelm him every time he considered the possibility his friend, his best friend of thirty years, might truly be gone.

The captain ordered the sails lowered, slowing their approach as the Denerim waterfront grew steadily larger up ahead. Loghain hated being at sea, so the sight of the city should have brought a smile to his face, but it didn't. The way he felt now, he thought it possible nothing would ever make him smile again.

Loghain had been away from Denerim for nearly three months. Ferelden's Royal Navy consisted of a total of five ships, all of which he had sent into the Waking Sea. Loghain himself had sailed on a caravel, the _Angharad_, which had combed the islands to the south and east of Hercinia. There was still an entire ocean to be searched, but he had to return home, for a brief time at least, to deal with the chaos he knew would be brewing in the wake of Maric's disappearance.

As much as he hated to admit it, a new ruler must be crowned; it was time for Cailan, unprepared though he may be, to take the throne. Of course, this also meant Anora would soon be queen, the one thing that kept Loghain from despairing for Ferelden's future under Cailan's rule. He loved Cailan almost like a son, but that didn't blind him to the lad's shortcomings, of which there were many. Anora, on the other hand, had a shrewd mind and a keen understanding of politics, and had paid attention all these years when Loghain had brought her to the Landsmeet and sent her to salons. Cailan would smile and charm his subjects, while Anora ran the country. It would work. And even if it wasn't ideal, even if they were both too young to be thrust into ruling a kingdom, that hardly mattered now. Ferelden needed a king, and Maric was nowhere to be found.

Maric. An image of him sprang unbidden into Loghain's mind, along with a memory of the sound of Maric's voice, his exuberant laughter. No matter how much Loghain tried to push them away, these thoughts of Maric were persistent. As was the hollow feeling they spawned in the pit of Loghain's stomach.

Thirty years. That was a lot of history, a lot of triumphs and trials, a lot of . . . everything. Certainly, Loghain had never been closer to anyone in his life. And no matter how much Loghain had grumbled about Maric's constant chatter and stupid jokes, the capering and the laughter, the truth was those things were so much a part of Loghain's life, the thought of continuing on without them was almost unbearable. As were thoughts of returning to the palace, knowing Maric would not be there to greet him. Of having to look into Cailan's eyes, and tell the boy that Loghain had failed to find his father.

No, this return to Ferelden held no appeal, and Loghain already felt a restlessness gnawing away at him, a feeling he knew would not be relieved by anything short of sailing away from Ferelden again, to continue his search.

As the caravel glided toward the dock, Loghain's eyes narrowed. For a moment, he thought he'd seen . . .

But, no. It must be his imagination. What would _she_ be doing here?

He blinked to clear his eyes, and discovered it wasn't his imagination. There was a girl sitting on the dock. A girl who looked remarkably like Rhianna Cousland.

She raised her arm and waved enthusiastically, and after only a moment of hesitation, he returned the greeting.

Maker's breath. It was Rhianna. But why was she here? How had she known the ship would arrive today?

Actually, he didn't care why or how. It was enough she was here. Maker knows he was glad to see her.

•o•

Fifteen minutes later, he disembarked and crossed the dock to where she waited, a gangly young mabari pup cradled in her arms.

"Rhianna."

"Hello, Teyrn Loghain." Her smile was warm, but there was something behind her eyes that looked broken. Something like grief. That was hardly surprising. She loved Maric, too.

Loghain wasn't quite ready to talk about that yet, so instead he nodded his head in the direction of the puppy. "And who is this?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me introduce you. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, this is Dane Cousland. Dane, this is the teyrn. I've told you all about him, remember?"

Dane huffed. Of course Dane remembered the stories about the teyrn.

She kissed the puppy's forehead before continuing, "Mother and Father gave him to me for my birthday. He's named for the battle," she added sheepishly, "not the hero." It sounded as though she'd given that answer repeatedly; perhaps someone had teased her about the name she'd given her dog.

"May I?" He reached his hands out toward the furry little creature. Rhianna nodded, and Loghain grasped the puppy just under his front legs, holding Dane at eye level.

"Hello, Dane." He looked the pup directly in the eyes. "You're a handsome fellow, aren't you? And very fortunate in having this young woman as your mistress."

"Harupf," Dane said, in complete agreement with both statements. Then he lunged at Loghain in a desperate attempt to lick the man's face. Turning his head to one side, Loghain allowed the puppy to slobber on his cheek, then shifted his grip to cradle Dane against his chest.

"Just what are the two of you doing here, anyway? On the docks, I mean? You're not contemplating a life at sea, I trust," Loghain asked, addressing the question to Rhianna while rubbing Dane behind the ears.

Rhianna chuckled. "No, silly. I heard your ship would be coming in this afternoon. So we came to welcome you back to Ferelden. I hope it won't be too much trouble for you to walk me back to Highever House." She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not really supposed to leave the estate without a chaperone."

"Of course I'll walk you back. Thank you for coming. It . . . well, it was good to see you here."

She beamed at him for a moment, but then her smile faded. "You didn't find him." It wasn't a question.

"No. Not yet."

"But you're going to keep looking?"

"Yes."

"Good." She was quiet for the space of a breath, then added, "I don't think he's dead."

Hmm. Was there something more to this statement than her desire for Maric to be alive? Sensing she would explain if he were patient, Loghain remained silent. Even Dane became calm in Loghain's arms.

Rhianna continued, "I don't believe his ship sank between here and Wycome. Or, if it did . . ." she looked down at the dock beneath their feet for a moment, before looking up again, directly into Loghain's eyes. "They couldn't find it. The seabirds, I mean."

"Seabirds? You sent birds out to look for Maric? Like you sent the rat after me that day?"

"Yes. And most of them can't swim under the water, so maybe they missed something. And of course, there's no way to know if they looked every single place a ship could have gone down. But they've been looking as long as you have, and a wreck . . . well, there's always debris on the surface. There would have been some sign the ship went down. But none of them found any evidence of a recently wrecked ship. Nor did they find King Maric. I think . . . I think that means he's not dead."

On the dock, people moved past them, back and forth, attending to their daily business and paying no attention at all to the man and the girl who stood so close together. A man and a girl so intent on one another they were unaware of the activity surrounding them.

"How many birds did you send?"

"Oh, I don't know. Two dozen, perhaps?"

"I wonder what would happen if you were to ask dolphins. I saw a lot of them while I was at sea. And they have no trouble swimming down into deep water."

Her eyes grew wide. "That's an excellent idea. You want dolphins? I can ask dolphins. All I need is a small boat, to get out into open water and talk to them."

"Shall we do that tomorrow? I'll make all the arrangements."

"You'll come with me?"

"Of course. Unless you already have plans for tomorrow."

"Probably I do. Some stupid salon or another. But this is much more important."

"Then tomorrow it is. I'll come round Highever House for you first thing in the morning."

"Perfect. With dolphins looking under the water, and you and the birds up above, you'll find King Maric. I know you will."

"If he's not dead, we will find him."

They turned, and headed toward the city, Dane still held in Loghain's arms.

As they walked side by side, Rhianna spoke. "I . . . I'm glad you're back. I think Ferelden needs you here right now."

"I expect you're right. As much as I would rather be looking for Maric, there are things here that must be taken care of first."

She glanced at him, but then looked away again.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Just that . . . well, just that I like Denerim so much better when you're here."

"Indeed?" He paused. "Yes, well, I think Denerim is better when you're here, as well."

She bit her lip, as though trying not to smile, but she couldn't hide the pleasure that lit up her eyes at his comment.

"Yes," he murmured, more to himself than to her, "Denerim _is_ better when you're here."

And finally, Loghain smiled.

•o•


	23. A direct descendant of Calenhad

_**2 Harvestmere, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Amaranthine Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

"King Maric is dead."

Rendon Howe swept his gaze across the faces of the select group of nobles gathered in the hall of his Denerim estate. Most of Arl Howe's guests were from the north: Franderel of West Hill; Ranulf of Waking Sea, along with his daughter, Alfstanna; Loren of River Dane; Leonas Bryland of South Reach. Bann Esmerelle, of course; she and Howe were rarely seen apart when the two of them were in Denerim at the same time. The only representation from the south was Gallagher Wulff, Arl of the West Hills. And of course, Eamon himself, who wasn't entirely sure why he had been invited to this "gathering," or what its purpose would be.

Hopefully it wouldn't prove to be a waste of his time.

Howe continued, "Regardless of whether or not Loghain Mac Tir wishes to continue living some fantasy where the king is going to magically appear after three months lost at sea, I'm sure we can agree amongst ourselves that, tragically, King Maric is dead, and will not be returning. And we must put aside our grief long enough to ensure a new ruler is found for Ferelden. A ruler who will help Ferelden to prosper and thrive. Hence, the reason I've invited all of you here tonight."

"What are you getting at, Howe?" Eamon asked, his voice carrying easily across the room. "The Landsmeet is set to confirm Cailan tomorrow. A month from now he will wed Anora Mac Tir. Together, they'll rule Ferelden, as their parents have planned for two decades. What, exactly, do you suggest should happen instead?"

"Yes." Howe smiled, an unpleasant, cold thing that didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "I am aware this would be the . . . easiest path for Ferelden to follow. But do you truly believe Prince Cailan, at such a tender age, is prepared to take the throne?"

"He's not any younger than Maric was when he was leading the rebellion," Gallagher Wulff replied.

"True." Bann Ranulf pulled at his beard thoughtfully. "But Cailan isn't Maric. Surely we can all agree on that, as well. And even Maric wasn't particularly well-prepared at that age. Maric succeeded because he had the charisma to convince people to follow him. He also had Loghain Mac Tir, and," glancing at Eamon, "your father and sister helping him manage things."

"It will be no different for Cailan," Eamon replied. "He will have plenty of people to advise him." Myself included, he added silently. He intended to exert as much influence as possible on his young nephew.

"If he'll listen to good advice," Bann Esmerelle said dryly. "The boy tends to do whatever he wants in the moment, without thinking through the consequences. Besides, do you really want to see Anora Mac Tir - the daughter of a commoner - ascend to the throne at his side?"

She fixed Eamon with a stare. After a moment, he inclined his head, conceding the point. "Fair enough," Eamon replied, turning to Howe. "I suppose this means you intend to put forth another candidate?"

The Arl of Amaranthine was smiling again, a thoroughly repulsive thing. Maker's balls, hopefully Howe didn't intend to put himself forward. That would be ridiculous, and a monumental waste of time. Howe was not anywhere near popular enough to convince the Landsmeet to support him. If that turned out to be the point of this meeting, Eamon would get up and walk out without another word.

"I do intend to put forth another candidate," Howe affirmed. "There is one man in Ferelden who has nearly as good a claim to the throne, has the popularity to carry the Landsmeet, if we advocate for him, and has the experience and wisdom to rule Ferelden wisely." He paused, once again meeting the eyes of those gathered around the table.

"Bryce Cousland."

An interested murmur spread throughout the room.

"Bryce, you say," Leonas Bryland spoke up. "I agree he would be an excellent king. I'd happily support him, although he's not said anything to me about putting himself forward. Does this mean he's willing?"

Howe raised his hands, as if wanting to keep the discussion from getting ahead of itself. "Not exactly. I . . . wanted to see if there would be support for the idea before bringing it up to him."

"Bryce isn't a Theirin," Eamon pointed out.

"No," Howe replied, "but his children have royal blood, through their mother. Eleanor and Maric were cousins, distant cousins, perhaps, but she is a Dryden. A direct descendant of Calenhad. Which means her children have as much royal blood as Prince Cailan does.

"What I suggest is we put Teyrn Cousland on the throne now. He is more than capable of ruling Ferelden, and ruling it well. And during his reign, his daughter Rhianna can be groomed to become queen after her father's death. Once again, someone of Calanhad's bloodline sits on the throne, and Ferelden doesn't have to suffer through the growing pains of an unprepared and immature king."

"Why the girl?" Wulff asked. "Fergus is Bryce's first born. Wouldn't he stand to inherit ahead of the daughter?"

"Well," Howe said smoothly. "I assume that Fergus will take over his father's teyrnir once Bryce becomes king. Which leaves Rhianna as the heir to the throne." He paused. "I've known the girl her entire life. She has the qualities that would make her a good queen."

Eamon studied Howe's face. There was more to this. Something Howe had up his sleeve. But Eamon was not quite sure what it was.

"There is some merit to what you suggest," Eamon conceded.

Yes, Bryce Cousland would be a fine king, from a practical standpoint. Although the fact he wasn't of the Theirin bloodline rankled. Eamon didn't know the girl; he'd seen her in Denerim from time to time, but couldn't recall ever speaking to her. He had no way of judging for himself whether or not she would make a good queen, and he certainly wasn't willing to take Rendon Howe's word for it. If anything, the fact Howe had focused on her, rather than on the son, made Eamon even more suspicious.

So just what was the missing piece?

Looking at Howe, it hit him.

The man had two sons, both of whom were of marriageable age. A match between one of them and the girl would put a Howe on the throne of Ferelden. Yes, that was almost certainly what the man had in mind. Perhaps such a betrothal had already been arranged. Eamon considered asking, but Howe would surely deny it, whether or not it was true.

The thought of a Howe on the throne, a family that hardly had an unblemished history of loyalty to Ferelden, was unacceptable. Although you couldn't blame the man for trying. Eamon had a son of his own, after all, and wouldn't mind seeing Connor on the throne someday. The boy was only two years old, however, so there was no point in bringing up his name now. But that would be something to consider for the future if the Cousland girl were to remain unspoken for long enough.

Chances are Howe had already made an arrangement with Bryce, attempting to cut off any chance of marrying the girl into some other family. But a betrothal, especially one that hadn't been formally announced, wasn't impossible to break. And the Cousland girl did have an attractive pedigree.

"There is merit to it," Eamon repeated. "However," he continued, deciding to turn the tables on Howe and whatever machinations he was planning, "there is another option. Put Cailan on the throne, as planned. But he marries the Cousland girl, rather than Loghain's daughter. I have no doubt this will require a fair amount of babysitting on our part, to make sure Cailan receives appropriate guidance. But this would keep a Theirin on the throne. And, considering the boy is likely to turn to his bride's father for advice, I, for one, would much rather see Cailan turn to Bryce than to Loghain Mac Tir. This would be the best of both worlds." And keep Howe's spawn away from the throne.

Howe chuckled half-heartedly. "Yes, that would seem to be an excellent compromise. However," he continued, his voice dripping with feigned regret, "Cailan's marriage to Anora Mac Tir was settled years ago. I sincerely doubt either of them will agree to have their betrothal broken. And Loghain is sure to object, quite strenuously."

"Loghain is going to object strenuously to either of these suggestions," Bann Ranulf pointed out. "He wants to see his daughter on the throne, and I don't blame him for that. She's been groomed for this her entire life. Having Cailan marry someone else, or putting Bryce on the throne, either way it confounds Loghain's ambitions for his daughter and his family name. Not to mention Cailan is the son of Loghain's best friend."

"Family name," Eamon snorted. "The man had no family name until Maric bestowed it upon him. The man should have stayed a farmer."

"Now, that's hardly fair." Alfstanna's voice was soft, but carried easily across the room. "Loghain Mac Tir is a hero. Without him, we'd probably all be speaking Orlesian right now, assuming any of us were still alive. I don't see how it matters who his parents were, or how they made their living. Teyrn Loghain is a great man, and I think Anora will be a good queen. I have more concerns about Cailan than I do about Anora Mac Tir."

Several others at the table nodded in agreement.

"Yes, well since Loghain is going to be unhappy either way," Bann Wulff began, "We ought to consider the merits of each of these proposed outcomes without worrying about his reaction."

"Each proposed outcome?" Howe smiled, as always, but his tone suggested he was disconcerted by the appearance of multiple proposed outcomes. Eamon nearly chuckled aloud at the man's obvious discomfort. "Well, the Cousland girl is not yet old enough to marry, nor is she ready to take up the crown at Cailan's side. Much better to put Teyrn Bryce on the throne, and give his daughter time to mature - under our guidance, of course - and put her on the throne some years from now."

"How old is the girl?" Eamon asked. He honestly had no idea.

"She turned thirteen very recently."

Eamon snorted. "What are you talking about, Howe? She's plenty old enough to wed, especially considering Cailan's young age. If Bryce is squeamish about such things, then throw in a condition they wait a year or two to consummate the marriage. That will still give her plenty of time to conceive heirs. Heirs with the Theirin name, and Calenhad's bloodline on both sides. I rather like the thought of that."

"I don't know," Wulff interjected. "I am still nervous about the prospect of putting Cailan on the throne at all. The boy is too young, and has never shown any aptitude for leadership. None I've seen, anyway."

What he said was true, yes, but it was also true that Wulff has sons of his own. Several sons, come to think of it. All of whom could be considered potential partners for the Cousland girl.

"I'm with Gallagher," Ranulf replied. "I'd be willing to support Bryce Cousland. He's a good man, a hero. Well liked by the nobility and the people of the Coastlands. I can't think of anyone in the north who wouldn't be willing to support him, with the possible exception of Bann Nicola. Wouldn't you agree, Franderel?"

The Bann of West Hill nodded. "Yes, Ranulf speaks true. Bryce would be a fine king, and would easily carry the north. But what about the rest of the country?" He turned to Leonas Bryland, "What do you think are the chances of Dragon's Peak and Lothering supporting Bryce? And Oswin? And Denerim?"

Bryland looked up at the ceiling as he considered the question, then shrugged as he met Franderel's gaze. "Dragon's Peak, perhaps. Lothering? I doubt it. Ceorlic has sworn his allegiance to Gwaren, and I don't think he would do anything to jeopardize that relationship. Denerim? Eh, Urien's fond of the prince, although he might be swayed to our side if he thought there was some chance his son Vaughan might marry Rhianna when she comes of age." Bryland paused. "Not that I would support that option, ever. Vaughan Kendalls is less fit to be king than Cailan. And I don't have much hope for Oswin. Loghain was born there; Gerald will side with Gwaren." He turned to Eamon. "What about Rainesfere? Can you convince your brother to support Bryce? Assuming you're on board with us, that is."

"Rainesfere will stand with Redcliffe," Eamon replied, well aware he was answering only half of the question. No one else seemed to notice.

"And the rest of the south? Will they stand with Redcliffe?" Franderel asked.

"Yes. The rest of the south, as well," Eamon affirmed.

"Well," Howe stood, clapping his hands together in a gesture clearly meant to signal the end of this meeting. "I suggest we call it a night, and rest up for what promises to be an exciting day tomorrow."

"So," Arl Wulff addressed Howe, as those gathered around the table began to get to their feet. "Do you intend to put Bryce's name forward?"

A smile split Howe's face. "I plan to pay him a visit this evening. We'll see where that discussion leads. But I would say yes, we should all be prepared tomorrow to put Teyrn Cousland's name before the Landsmeet. And of course, I'm certain the teyrn will be most grateful for your support." Howe's eyes again traveled over the faces in the room. Finally, the man's gaze landed on Eamon, and rested there.

As it should. The south would support whichever candidate Eamon supported, after all. Which made him rather the most important man in the room.

At least this evening hadn't proved a waste of time. Rhianna Cousland. He'd never thought much about her before, but it was clear she had the potential to become important – very important - in Ferelden's future, something that certainly warranted Eamon's attention.

Thankfully, he had the entire evening to decide just where he thought the girl best fit in, and how he intended to vote on the morrow.

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_I would like to give a huge THANK YOU to my wonderful beta, Xogs, and also to my reviewers: __Morninglight, Grey Jackett, WardenVaer, Bergamot29, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Milly-FinalFantasy, Arachelle905, Psyche Sinclair, Judy, and Rhivanna._


	24. The Landsmeet has spoken

_**3 Harvestmere, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Royal Palace, Denerim**_

•o•

Loghain sat in the gallery, only half-listening as Bryce Cousland called the Landsmeet to order. Loghain was somewhat preoccupied this morning, after looking over the royal treasury documents last night, and trying to figure out how he was going to fund this expedition to search for Maric. There was money, but not so much it would be easy to justify spending it on a search many of Ferelden's nobles had already decided would be in vain.

Ah well. He still had a while to figure something out; he wouldn't set sail until after Cailan and Anora were wed, which would happen just over a month from now.

"As we all are aware," Bryce was saying, "Teyrn Loghain returned last week after searching the coast of the Free Marches for any sign of King Maric or his ship. Unfortunately, this search was unsuccessful. Which brings us to the purpose of our meeting today: this Landsmeet has been called to confirm a new king to rule in Maric's absence. I know this weighs heavily on all of us. Maric was not only a personal friend, but beloved to all of Ferelden. A hero. An inspiration. His leadership led us out of the bleak days of the Orlesian Occupation, gave all of us our freedom. But now, he is gone, and we must decide who will rule in his place. To that end, I open the floor for nominations."

Loghain stood, and waited to be recognized. Bryce nodded in his direction. "I nominate Prince Cailan Theirin, Maric's son and named heir."

Bryce nodded. "So noted. Are there any other nominations?"

Rendon Howe stood. A ripple of murmuring voices passed through the room, as thirty pairs of eyes fell upon the Arl of Amaranthine.

"I nominate Bryce Cousland, Teyrn of Highever."

The room was silent for the space a few heartbeats, and then erupted into a cacophony of voices, as everyone in the room tried to speak at the same time.

What in the Maker's name was this? Bryce Cousland was challenging Cailan for the throne? Loghain glanced at Bryce; the man's face was calm, neither smiling nor frowning. Clearly, this did not come as a surprise to him.

Maker's balls. Bryce Cousland was challenging Maric's own son.

This was . . . unthinkable.

When the furor in the room showed no sign of subsiding, Bryce's voice rang out above the others.

"SILENCE!"

Almost instantly, the room was quiet again, except for a few sibilant whispers. Loghain glanced down at Cailan. His face had turned completely pale, and the lad's mouth hung open as if in shock.

Loghain, still on his feet, turned to Bryce. "Is this a genuine nomination? Are you prepared to challenge Prince Cailan's claim to the throne?"

Bryce met Loghain's gaze. "Yes. I am willing to put myself forward, if the Landsmeet will support me."

Maker's _balls_.

What in the world was Bryce thinking? It's not that Bryce wouldn't make an excellent king. He would, and he had as reasonable a claim as anyone. Anyone other than Cailan, that is. Maric's _son_.

Never in his wildest imagination had Loghain expected anyone to challenge Cailan's claim. Perhaps the boy wasn't prepared yet to be king, but he didn't have to be. He would have advisors, Loghain himself, just as Maric had. The majority of nobles in Ferelden were well aware Loghain had been behind many of the crucial decisions during Maric's reign. Together, they had been an excellent team: Maric with the charm to keep everyone happy, and Loghain to make sure things ran smoothly from behind the scenes, while never flinching from difficult decisions. There was no reason for this not to continue under Cailan. At first anyway, until the boy got a feel for ruling, with Anora at his side.

If Bryce were elected king, it was likely to throw the nation into chaos. And what of the effect on the government if - no, _when -_ Maric returned from wherever that Maker-damned ship had taken him? With Cailan on the throne, it would be difficult enough if the Landsmeet decided Maric should be reinstated. If Bryce were king, things could only be more complicated.

And when Maric did return, Loghain did not want to have to explain how it came to pass that Maric's own son had not been confirmed as king.

Damn. _Damn!_ How much support had Bryce garnered? A challenge like this would not be floated at the Landsmeet lightly, would not be floated at all unless Bryce knew he had some chance of success.

Eamon Guerrin stood to be recognized. "Teyrn Cousland, since you are now a participant in this election, it would be best for someone else to preside over the Landsmeet. I respectfully suggest Bann Teagan of Rainesfere." With little fanfare or discussion, it was agreed Teagan would replace Bryce. Looking rather pale and surprised, Eamon's brother moved to the front of the room.

Teagan coughed into his hand before speaking. "Two names have been put forward to succeed King Maric Theirin as the ruler of Ferelden. Are there any other nominations?"

Blessedly, the room was silent. "Very well," Teagan said, sounding relieved. "First, we shall hear in favor of Teyrn Bryce Cousland. Who will speak for him?"

All eyes turned to Rendon Howe, but instead Leonas Bryland pushed himself to his feet. That was wise. Howe may have been behind this nomination, but at least he was smart enough to have someone else speak on Bryce's behalf. Rendon Howe was far from the most popular member of the Landsmeet. Leonas, on the other hand, was jovial and well-liked.

"You all know me," Leonas began, in his usual conversational manner, "but more to the point, you all know Bryce, and have done for years. I've known him most of my life and can honestly say I have never known a better man than Bryce Cousland. I fought at his side during the Battle of White River, and you all know how that turned out. Only fifty of us made it through alive, and I tell you plainly I would not have been one of them if it weren't for the heroic actions of my friend here. Highever and the entire Coastlands have prospered under his leadership. He's brought amazing amounts of trade to the area, and is universally known as a fair and honest man. And Bryce has fostered good relations with many of our neighbors, especially with the Free Marches, Antiva, and Orlais.

"It is also worth mentioning he would bring with him a family eminently well suited for leading Ferelden into a prosperous future. Teyrna Eleanor would be a gracious, intelligent, compassionate queen. Also," he took a breath, "since leaving Highever would require his eldest child, Fergus, to step into the role of teyrn, the natural choice for the succession after Bryce would be his daughter, Lady Rhianna Cousland."

Blessed Andraste. So that's what this was about. Whether Bryce realized it or not, he was merely the means to an end. Oh, certainly, there were those who would genuinely prefer to see Cousland on the throne. If it were just a matter of Cailan versus Bryce, even Loghain had to admit Bryce was better suited to be king. But this was not about Bryce. This was about Rhianna. Did Bryce realize that by challenging Cailan, he was throwing his daughter to the wolves?

Bryland continued, "For those of you who are not acquainted with the girl, let me tell you that I have known her since she was born, and I can honestly assure you she has the potential, with appropriate guidance during her father's life, to be a magnificent queen. She has a way with people the likes of which I have rarely seen before. I'm sure you'll remember how impressed Empress Celene was with her, when the girl was presented a few years ago. And," he added carefully, as though he wanted to ensure no one missed this last point, "the girl is a direct descendant of King Calenhad himself, through her mother."

Yes. Rhianna and her royal blood had an extremely strong claim to the throne. And she would have to marry someone. If Bryce took the throne, every noble in Ferelden who had some ambition for ruling the country would be after the girl, hoping to gain the throne on her back. She was already the most eligible young woman in the kingdom, seen by many as a valuable prize to be won, but if Bryce were made king, competition for her hand would become even more intense.

No doubt Rendon Howe intended it to be one of his boys, but Urien Kendalls, Gallagher Wulff, Sighard Davies, even Eamon Guerrin all had sons to consider. There were even a few men in the room who might bid for Rhianna themselves. Teagan Guerrin had never been married. Urien Kendalls, Gerald Valdric and Leonas Bryland were all widowers. As was Loghain himself.

Not that Bryce was likely to choose someone of his own generation as Rhianna's husband; that would make little sense. If Bryce won the throne, Rhianna would marry whomever he and his allies decided would make the best king after Bryce's death.

Perhaps an arrangement for the girl's future had already been made. Then again, perhaps not; Bryce wasn't quite that scheming. If anything, Bryce Cousland had always seemed a touch too trusting. Like now, when it seemed likely the man hadn't considered all the ramifications for his daughter were he to be crowned king. Or perhaps he had considered them, and this was what he wanted for her: to be queen.

"_I don't want to be queen," _Rhianna had said. "_I don't know anything about being a queen._"

She might not be given a choice.

"In any case," Bryland finished, "I think I've made it clear I support Bryce Cousland as the next King of Ferelden. No one is better suited than Bryce to lead our nation into an era of peace and prosperity, and he has experience and, let's face it, propensity for ruling, that Cailan simply does not have." Bryland sat down to widespread murmuring throughout the chamber.

"Thank you, Arl Bryland," Bann Teagan said calmly. "And who will speak in favor of Prince Cailan?"

Damn it. If Loghain had known this challenge was coming, he could have groomed one of the others to speak. Eamon, perhaps. The man was obnoxious, but he was both a staunch royalist and the boy's uncle, certain to support Cailan's claim. And Eamon was influential in the south. He might have been a better advocate for Cailan than Loghain himself. Loghain glanced at the Arl of Redcliffe, hoping he would volunteer. But no, the bearded man sat back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of him. Nor did anyone else take the floor.

There was nothing to be done but speak for the boy himself.

Taking a deep breath, Loghain got to his feet.

"I have known Cailan Theirin since he was a boy. Most of us here have. From the moment he was born, it was always intended this day would eventually come. The day when Prince Cailan would take the throne in his father's place. No one regrets more than I do that this day has arrived far sooner than any of us anticipated, but it doesn't change the fact Maric intended for his son to succeed him as King of Ferelden.

"Yes, Cailan is young, but he stands here before you, ready to take his father's place, ready to dedicate himself to ruling this land. Nor will he be doing it alone. Though he wasn't tempered in the fires of war as his father was, he has the benefit of being surrounded by those who will guide him as he learns.

"Four hundred years ago, Calenhad the Great brought all of the banns together as never before. Since that time, except during the Occupation, Ferelden has been led by a monarch descended directly from Calenhad himself." Certainly, there was irony in Loghain Mac Tir, a man born of farmers and raised up to the nobility, making this argument. But he carried on anyway. "Cailan, of course, shares this esteemed bloodline.

"As all of you know, Maric was far more to me than merely my king. He was my best friend. He was like a brother to me for more than two decades. This means I am hardly unbiased in my desire to see his son rule Ferelden. But neither should you be. Maric was beloved of all of us, and for good reason. There was something special about him. Something regal, something that inspired people. It's what gave him the ability to drive the Orlesians from our lands, and made him so exceptionally successful as our king. And Prince Cailan is very much his father's son. Do not let his youth blind you to the fact he is Maric's heir, both in reality and in spirit. He had Maric's confidence. He has my confidence. And he should be given your confidence, as well.

"Bryce Cousland is a war hero. More importantly he is a good man. If Ferelden were in need of someone to step forward and succeed to the throne, I can think of no one better qualified than Teyrn Cousland. But Ferelden is not in need of someone to step forward. King Maric has an heir, his son, Cailan. Not just Maric's son, but Queen Rowan's, as well. To deny him his birthright would do a disservice to him, to this Landsmeet, and to the people of Ferelden. We owe Prince Cailan to chance to prove himself, to become the king he was born to be."

After a final glance at the faces around the room, he returned to his seat, and nodded at Teagan Guerrin.

Teagan stood once more. "Is there anyone else who would like to speak on behalf of either candidate?" When no one responded, he continued, "Then, would either candidate care to address the assembly?" Cailan and Bryce both shook their heads, declining the opportunity. Leonas had spoken well on Bryce's behalf; it was wise of the man not to say anything more. And Cailan? Cailan was likely too much in shock to be capable of coherent speech.

Teagan nodded to the Landsmeet scribe, indicating he should be prepared to record the vote. "Then let the voting begin," he said in a clear voice.

"Gwaren supports Prince Cailan," Loghain announced.

"Highever abstains."

"Amaranthine supports Bryce Cousland." Rendon Howe's voice carried throughout the hall.

"Amaranthine City supports Bryce Cousland," Bann Esmerelle added a moment later.

"Dragon's Peak supports Prince Cailan."

"South Reach supports Bryce Cousland."

"Drakon River stands with Prince Cailan."

"Blackburn supports Prince Cailan."

"Lowden stands with Teryn Cousland."

"Lothering supports Prince Cailan."

"West Hill stands with Cousland,"

"Waking Sea supports Teyrn Cousland."

"River Dane supports Teyrn Cousland."

"Denerim supports Bryce Cousland." That was unexpected. Urien Kendalls was a royalist, or had been until now.

"Northmuir supports Prince Cailan."

"Hafter River stands with Teyrn Cousland."

"Abervale stands with the teyrn."

"White River supports Teryn Cousland."

"Knotwood Hills supports Teyrn Cousland."

Most of the north had voted, but the south was strangely quiet. Apparently, most of the southern banns were waiting to see how Eamon Guerrin would vote.

"Rainesfere supports Prince Cailan," Bann Teagan announced. While it was hardly surprising he would support his nephew's bid, it was unusual for him to vote ahead of his brother; Teagan usually followed his brother's lead in most things.

"Ayre supports the teryn."

"West Hills supports Teyrn Cousland." Another somewhat surprising vote, considering Gallagher Wulff's arling was far to the south. Of course, he had sons who might well become king if one of them could capture Rhianna's hand.

Thus far, the vote was strongly in favor - fourteen to seven - of Bryce. There were twenty-nine voting members in the Landsmeet, after Highever's abstention; Bryce needed just one more vote to take the throne.

Finally, Eamon spoke. "Redcliffe . . . stands with Prince Cailan."

It was as if the air went out of the room. One by one, the southern banns spoke.

"Vintiver supports Prince Cailan."

"Winter's Breath stands with the Prince."

"Penfro supports the Prince."

"Southron Hills stands with Prince Cailan."

"The Ruswold stands with the Prince."

"Sothmere stands with Prince Cailan."

The vote was tied, fourteen votes for the prince, and fourteen for the teyrn.

"Oswin . . . supports Prince Cailan."

The room fell silent for just a moment, then erupted into a sea of voices. Cailan had won the support of the Landsmeet. Just barely. No doubt, this margin of just a single vote would be talked about for many years to come.

Loghain closed his eyes, and rubbed at his forehead with his hand. Thank the Maker. Cailan would rule, as Maric had intended. And Rhianna Cousland had been relieved of what would have been an extremely heavy burden.

When the room quieted, Teagan's voice rang out. "The Landsmeet has spoken! Prince Cailan Theirin will succeed his father as King of Ferelden. The coronation ceremony will take place here in the Palace at noon, tomorrow.

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_Note: As you probably noticed, there were a great many more votes in this Landsmeet than nobles we actually meet in the game. I have done my best to fill in the gaps, geographically and politically, based on what we know in the game, and other canon, including making up both names and places where it seemed appropriate. If you are interested in a list of all of the nobles in my personal vision of Ferelden, as well as a map of the locations of their holdings, just follow the "Extras" link on my profile._

_A big thank you to my marvelous beta, Xogs, as well as to my reviewers: Bergamot29, Milly-finalfantasy, Morninglight, and Arsinoe de Blassenville._


	25. The legacy we all fought to preserve

_**3 Harvestmere, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Highever Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

Dinner at the Highever estate was a somber affair.

When Bryce returned from the Landsmeet, he gathered the family together and, as gently as possible, told them the outcome of the vote. When Eleanor learned Bryce lost by a single vote, she'd nearly cried. If just one additional person had supported him instead of Cailan, her husband would be the one being crowned king tomorrow.

Instead, he was now in the precarious position of having challenged Cailan, and lost. Even so, Eleanor didn't know whether to be embarrassed her husband's gambit had not succeeded, or incredibly proud he had come one vote away from being named King of Ferelden. She decided to be proud. For a man with no Theirin blood, he had come awfully close to swaying the Landsmeet in his favor. Something that hadn't happened in four hundred years.

When Bryce explained what had happened, Eleanor, concerned as much for her children as for her husband, had watched their reactions closely. Fergus had looked nothing but relieved; Rhianna's expression had been more difficult to read.

That morning, when they'd told the children Bryce intended to put his name forward, both Rhianna and Fergus had seemed uncomfortable with the idea. Of course, they had smiled and wished their father luck, and said all the supportive things one could expect. But Rhianna in particular had seemed unsettled. Her smile looked forced, and her eyes were guarded and unhappy. Frankly, Eleanor had expected Rhianna to be elated by the news that Cailan had been confirmed, after all. But now, the girl looked no happier than she had that morning. If Eleanor had to put a name to it, she'd say her daughter looked scared.

Perhaps she was scared. Perhaps she had good reason to be. Bryce assured them everything would be all right, but having stood up against Cailan, and by extension Loghain, was definitely unsettling.

Damn Rendon Howe, anyway. From the first, Eleanor never liked the idea of Bryce being put forward, but Howe had assured them he had plenty of support. Cailan wasn't truly prepared to rule the country, after all, and if this was what the Landsmeet wanted, it seemed the best thing to do. But Howe's promise of support fell through, and now Bryce would be left to pick up the pieces if either the king or Loghain decided to hold a grudge. What in the Maker's name had Howe been thinking?

Bryce seemed genuinely calm, however. "It's all right, Eleanor," he assured. "The Landsmeet made its decision, and I am satisfied with that. It's not as though I really wanted to be king. I had concerns about Cailan, about whether or not he is ready. But clearly, the Landsmeet believes he is, so we'll do what we can to support the boy as he learns how to rule Ferelden. It's for the best, I'm sure."

He fell silent then, but when he glanced at Rhianna, Eleanor could almost hear his voice in her head. _And it will certainly make our daughter's life less complicated._

That much was true. As Bryce's heir presumptive, Rhianna would have been dragged into the middle of Fereldan politics. That was going to happen soon enough, but the longer it could be avoided, the better. Bryce and Eleanor both intended to make good on the promise they'd made to their daughter: she would not be forced into a marriage she didn't want. If Bryce had won the throne, that might not have been possible. The daughter of a teyrn had rather more freedom than the daughter of a king.

Even so, clearly, Rhianna was not comforted by this turn of events. Eleanor wasn't sure what to say to reassure her daughter, to soothe away the unhappiness in her eyes. With any luck, this whole thing would blow over quickly, and be put behind them.

"Begging your pardon my lord, my lady?" Eleanor looked up to see Hobbes standing in the doorway. "You have a visitor."

"A visitor?" Bryce sounded exhausted, and more than a little annoyed. Eleanor didn't blame him. The last thing she wanted this evening was company. "Who is it?"

"The Arl of Redcliffe, Your Grace."

Eamon Guerrin? What in the world did Eamon want? Last night, Howe had hinted Eamon had agreed to support Bryce, yet according to Bryce, Eamon was the one who turned the tide in Cailan's favor during the voting. Still, it was probably worth hearing what the man had to say. At the moment, they were hardly in a position to turn anyone away.

"Show him in, please," Bryce replied.

"Rhianna." Eleanor turned to her daughter. "Why don't you go on up and get ready for bed. I'll come tuck you in, in a few minutes, after the arl has gone."

"Yes, Mother."

"Perhaps you can help me put Oren to bed first," Oriana suggested to Rhianna, pleasantly. "And then if you like, you and I can read a story together. Fergus, are you still planning to meet Oswyn Davies at the Gnawed Noble?"

"I had thought to," Fergus replied, "if you don't mind. I can wait until you're done with Oren's bedtime and the story, if you'd like to come along."

"No, you go ahead. I'm happy to stay in tonight," Oriana replied.

The younger members of the family left the room, leaving Bryce and Eleanor alone for less than a minute before Hobbes returned with Arl Eamon in tow.

"Good evening, Eamon." Bryce gestured at the sofa, inviting the arl to take a seat. "Can I offer you anything?"

"I wouldn't say no to a glass of port."

Although Eamon was younger than Bryce, he looked several years older, probably due to his prematurely grey hair and full beard. To be honest, Eleanor had never been particularly fond of Eamon Guerrin. He spent rather too much time fussing about things she found distasteful, and she didn't like the way he treated his servants.

But now, she smiled graciously, and settled herself at the other end of the sofa, while her husband poured three glasses of port.

"So, Eamon," Bryce began, after joining them near the fire. "Forgive me for being blunt, but I'm sure you can appreciate it's been a rather demanding day. How can I help you?"

Eamon's eyes narrowed slightly, as he regarded Bryce. "Of course. I understand you wanting to get directly to the point. First of all, I want to apologize for what happened at the Landsmeet. For not supporting your bid for the throne. It's not that I don't believe you would be a fine king. But, well, Cailan is a Theirin. And, he's also my nephew. Even so, I considered it." Eamon paused. "I mean that. I considered it. Cailan is too young, and not at all ready for this. But, in the end, Loghain was persuasive. This is what Maric wanted. What my sister wanted. The legacy they both fought so hard to preserve. The legacy we all fought to preserve."

"Understood," Bryce replied. "That doesn't explain why you're here, though. I can't imagine you would venture out in the middle of the night just to make a rather unnecessary apology."

Eamon chuckled. "No, I don't suppose I would. You want to know why I'm here?" He pursed his lips, as if considering how to proceed. "As I've said, I was able to overcome the reservations I had about Cailan taking the throne. I'm here, however, because there is another matter that bothers me. And I'm not sure I am willing to sit idly by while it happens." Bryce and Eleanor remained silent, waiting for him to explain. "This marriage between Cailan and Loghain's daughter. Not only would it give Mac Tir an unreasonable amount of influence over the crown, even more than he's had in the past, but it dilutes the Theirin bloodline with that of a commoner. Anora Mac Tir is the granddaughter of farmers and carpenters."

"Respectable professions, both," Eleanor said thinly. She didn't appreciate the arl's views on bloodlines.

"That's easy for you to say, Eleanor." Eamon sounded vaguely annoyed. "A woman like yourself, a descendant of Calenhad, can afford to be generous. But I'm talking about the future of our country. Do we really want the ruling line of Ferelden tainted by inferior blood?"

"Any child of Cailan's will carry Calenhad's legacy," Bryce pointed out. "I'm still not sure exactly where you're going with this."

"Yes, well. Let me speak plainly, then. I do not want Cailan to marry Anora Mac Tir. Bloodlines aside, it gives too much power to her father, and I fear that she, herself, will try and exert an . . . undue influence on Cailan."

"Undue influence?" Bryce asked, raising a brow. "Surely, the queen should have influence nearly equal to that of the king. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Under normal circumstances? Of course," Eamon agreed. "Rowan was Maric's partner in every sense of the word. But I'm just not sure Anora - both of the Mac Tirs - have the same . . . goals in mind for Ferelden as the rest of us have."

"Loghain had Maric's ear for twenty five years," Eleanor replied. "I take it you have complaints about the way he's handled things?"

"Complaints? Besides the fact that with Loghain Mac Tir as the decision-maker behind the crown, we will never make amends with our nearest neighbors? The treaty with Orlais could have been so much more than it was, if not for Loghain's influence. Maric's death, tragic though it might be, gives us an opportunity to purge ourselves - to purge Ferelden - of Mac Tir's prejudice and extreme views. I'm not saying get rid of him entirely. Send him back to Gwaren. He and his daughter can rule their teyrnir, far away from Denerim. Let the rest of us move Ferelden forward."

"Forward? Meaning a new relationship with Orlais, I presume?" Eleanor asked.

"Yes. Among other things," Eamon replied.

"Personally," Bryce said, "I'm more than satisfied with the way things have been since the treaty was signed five years ago. I certainly don't want to see Orlais have opportunity to increase its influence in Ferelden ever again."

"That's funny, coming from you," Eamon scoffed. "Surely, you've benefitted a great deal from trade with the Orlesians."

"Yes, by virtue of the fact Highever is so close in proximity," Bryce replied. "But enjoying a healthy trade relationship is far different than wanting them to invade our borders again. I know you weren't in Ferelden through the worst of the Rebellion, Eamon. But you lost your father to Orlesian treachery. Surely, you don't want to risk a situation like that ever again."

Eamon shrugged. "Of course not. But this isn't just about Orlais. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Loghain . . . he takes too much on himself. He always presumed too much in his relationship with the king . . . and the queen, while she lived. And now, if his daughter is allowed to ascend the throne, the situation will not improve. Cailan is young, malleable. He will allow himself to be manipulated by whomever he turns to for advice. If Cailan were to marry someone else, someone more amenable to being guided in the direction we want Ferelden to go, that would benefit just about everyone."

Instantly, the reason for Eamon's visit became clear to Eleanor. And, judging by his next words, it had become clear to Bryce as well.

"No." Bryce's voice was firm. "I will not try and convince the prince to break his betrothal in favor of an arrangement with my daughter."

Eamon frowned. "Why not? You were willing to put yourself forward as king, and have your daughter named heir presumptive. How is this any different, except she gains the throne now, rather than later?"

"How is this different?" Bryce sounded incredulous. "How can you ask that, Eamon? This is entirely different. Rhianna is still a child, and I don't want to drag her into this sort of political scheme. Not something done behind closed doors. And anyway, regardless of the effect this would have on my daughter, there are a variety of other reasons for not doing as you suggest."

"What reasons?"

Bryce took a deep breath. "Rendon Howe told me there was ample support in the Landsmeet for me to take the throne. I would not have allowed my name to be put forward otherwise. It was never my intention to cause any sort of dissension, or rift among the nobility. I truly believed a majority of the Landsmeet had doubts about Cailan's ability to rule. Yourself, included." Bryce shrugged. "Clearly, that wasn't the case.

"But the fact I attempted to claim the throne . . . well, I don't assume there will be no repercussions. I wouldn't blame Cailan for being resentful, at least for a time. If I were to go to him now, I doubt I could convince him of anything. Certainly not something as monumental as this. He and Anora grew up knowing they would someday wed, and by all accounts they are genuinely fond of one another. I doubt Cailan would agree to break that betrothal under any circumstances, but especially not at a suggestion from me. My failed gambit for the throne? I'm sure I can recover from that in time. But were I to try and convince Cailan to marry Rhianna, and fail at that as well, it would be disastrous. I can't afford to be out of favor with the king, or the queen. And Ferelden can't afford to have her nobles squabbling amongst themselves."

"What if I were able to convince Cailan?" Eamon suggested. "Convince him Rhianna would be a better queen, and you had agreed to the arrangement?"

"Absolutely not." Eamon opened his mouth to reply, but Bryce continued before the other man could speak. "Even if you were to convince Cailan to marry Rhianna, there would be severe consequences. Consequences I'm not sure are worth the risk. Do you think Loghain's ambitions for his daughter are so flexible he would allow Cailan to break off the betrothal without another word? Of course not. The man would fight for his daughter's position; I'd do the same in his shoes. Whether or not Rhianna were to become queen, it would create a rift between myself and Loghain that might never heal. No, the price for all of us would be insanely high. Too high. And I don't want to embroil Rhianna in such political intrigues. Especially in light of the warm relationship she has with Loghain."

"Your daughter has a . . . relationship? With the teyrn?" Eamon's inflection made it sound vaguely dirty.

"They are friends," Eleanor explained. "They have been ever since she was small. And he's been very good to her over the years. Good to our entire family. He's saved Rhianna's life, on more than one occasion. Frankly, it would take quite a lot before I would even consider anything that constituted a betrayal of either Loghain or his daughter."

"And yet you were both willing for Bryce to challenge Cailan's succession?"

"Which hardly qualified as a 'betrayal,'" Eleanor insisted. "You know as well as I do it's tradition, not law, that a Theirin should sit on the throne of Ferelden. If Bryce had been confirmed by the Landsmeet, a majority vote in the light of day, well . . . that's the way our system is supposed to work. But suggesting Bryce convince Cailan to break a betrothal that's been in place for years? That's different. If you had such a strong objection to the match, why didn't you say something before now?"

"What makes you think I didn't?" Eamon raised his hands in a gesture of frustration. "But Maric wouldn't listen. Maric has never been able to see things clearly when it comes to Loghain Mac Tir. And any comments I made to Cailan fell on deaf ears, as well. He likes to think he can do whatever he wants. That's the one good thing that might come of your attempt to take the throne, Bryce. I think it scared the boy, made him see he might have to work for things he wants, he might have to negotiate. I hope it will make him more amenable to listening to the good advice of his elders than he has been in the past."

_Your_ advice, Eleanor thought dryly. Which is not necessarily the same thing as 'good' advice. But she didn't say that. Instead, she replied, "Well, Cailan is going to have a rocky time of things at first. I think that much is obvious. He wasn't prepared to take the throne this soon, and he's bound to be affected by the loss of his father. None of us were prepared for any of this. But I agree with Bryce. I am not willing to try and convince Cailan to break his betrothal with Anora. I don't think Ferelden would benefit whether or not we were able to succeed. And too many people would be affected, with too much bad blood all the way around."

Eamon frowned. "Loghain Mac Tir has held too much power in the past, and with Maric gone, and Loghain's own daughter on the throne, things will only get worse. It's difficult to believe you wouldn't rather see your own daughter be made queen, than a girl born of common stock."

"To be honest, I don't think our daughter has any desire to be queen," Bryce replied. "But even if she did, it's not her opinion, nor mine, that matters. It was put before the Landsmeet this morning, Eamon. And the Landsmeet - yourself included - supported Cailan. Knowing full well he intends to marry Anora Mac Tir. If they'd wanted Rhianna as their queen, they had their chance. You had your chance. I'm sorry, Eamon," Bryce said with finality. "But I'm afraid you've wasted your time in coming here tonight. We're not going to speak with Cailan in some hope he will marry our daughter instead of Anora."

"That's too bad, Bryce." Eamon shrugged, pushing himself to his feet. "But, of course I'll respect your decision. And pray I can maintain some sort of influence over the boy." He set his glass onto the table. "I'll bid you goodnight, then. Bryce. Eleanor." With a final incline of his head, the Arl of Redcliffe left the room.

Bryce leaned back into the chair, running a hand through his hair. "You don't think we should have considered what he was asking? Tried to convince Cailan that Rhianna would be a better match for him?"

Eleanor got up from the sofa, and came to sit in her husband's lap. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him. "No. No part of what Eamon suggested was a good idea. Eamon's just grasping at straws, and it's very easy for him to make suggestions like this, when it's not his own neck on the line. Like you said, you'll be able to recover from what happened today. But that was done out in the open, above board. Trying to convince the boy to break a betrothal put in place years ago? That is dishonorable. You and I both know it. And Eamon knows it, as well. That's why he didn't fight harder. Clearly, he has something against Loghain, although I must say I'm a bit baffled as to why. I can't think of any way Ferelden has suffered during the years in which Loghain has had influence."

"Nor can I. Perhaps Eamon's main concern is Orlais. He does have an Orlesian wife, after all, and may have a different agenda."

"Perhaps . . . but I got the feeling this wasn't really about Orlais. Yes, that was the first reason he gave, but all his subsequent arguments were somewhat more . . . personal. Obviously, Eamon is bothered by the fact Loghain wasn't born into the nobility. I think this entire business has more to do with Eamon wanting to take Loghain down a peg. And perhaps Anora, as well. But if that's really what he wanted, he made a grave mistake this morning, in not giving you his support. If you have been named king, none of the rest of this would have mattered."

Bryce pulled Eleanor closer. "You're probably right. As always." He turned his head to kiss her on the lips. "In any case, I certainly can't afford to antagonize Cailan any further. Or Loghain. Although I will admit the idea of Rhianna and Cailan together is appealing. Our daughter would have made a magnificent queen." He kissed her again. "As would you have done, my love."

She smiled up at him. "Yes, well, be that as it may, it seems the Maker intends the Couslands to remain in Highever for the time being. Which is just fine by me, and I'm sure Rhianna feels the same. So, I say we put this all behind us as quickly as possible. Cailan and Anora will be fine. It's not as though they won't have people to help them. And, to be honest, I never liked the idea of putting Rhianna in the middle of so much controversy. This will make her life much easier."

This time, Eleanor initiated the kiss, taking her time, relaxing into her husband's embrace. When they pulled apart, she whispered, "I'm going to go tell Rhianna good night. And then, perhaps you'd care to join me upstairs?"

He chuckled, pulling her close again. "Yes. I would like that very much."

•o•

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_A big thank-you to my wonderful beta, Xogs, and to my reviewers: WardenVaer, DutchNight, mememoll, Doom-N-GloomGal, milly-finalfantasy, and Arsinoe de Blassenville. _


	26. Maker Save the King!

_**4 Harvestmere, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Denerim Palace**_

•o•

The great hall of the Denerim palace was filled with people for the coronation, the crowd overflowing into the courtyard outside. Fires blazed in the corners of the room, and the air smelt of Chantry incense and sweat and flowers. The heat and the odors were making Rhianna feel ill.

Or perhaps the bad feelings in her stomach were caused by the thoughts churning incessantly in her head.

Prince Cailan stood at the bottom of the wide stairs at the end of the hall, the same stairs Rhianna climbed when she was presented to Empress Celene years ago. Cailan's eyes were wide and nervous; he certainly didn't look like a king. Rhianna thought he looked more like a child playing dress-up in his shining new plate mail. It was beautiful armor, with elaborate designs etched into the metal and inlaid with gold, but it looked slightly too large for him, and he fidgeted as if it were uncomfortable. Slung across his shoulders, he wore a cloak of crimson velvet, trimmed in white fur that made his face look pale and younger than his twenty years.

Far too young to be a king.

She hated this. Why, oh why, wasn't King Maric here? Maric was the real king. Not Cailan, and not anyone else, either. But Maric wasn't here, and that thought made her want to cry.

Rhianna missed him so much. She kept expecting to turn around and see him walking up to greet her, winking over some joke they shared, putting his arm around her shoulder and hugging her close. But that wasn't going to happen. She missed him, and she was so worried for him. He was still alive; he had to be. But what if Teyrn Loghain wasn't able to find him?

And she was scared, for so many reasons.

Scared she would never see King Maric ever again, a thought that made her feel like there was a hole in her heart nothing would ever be able to heal.

Scared because Cailan, with his oversized armor and his bewildered eyes, was about to become the king of Ferelden, whether he was ready for it or not.

Scared of the way people kept glancing at Rhianna, and at her father, out of the corners of their eyes, then whispering to their neighbors.

Scared Prince Cailan - no, _King_ Cailan - would be angry with her father, angry enough to retaliate against him.

So scared she felt like crying, and scared if she started to cry, she would never be able to stop.

And now Cailan was being crowned king, which seemed a very . . . final sort of thing to be happening.

Standing between her parents, Rhianna watched as Grand Cleric Elemena stepped forward to begin the ceremony. All voices hushed as the Grand Cleric raised her arms for the benediction.

"_All men are the work of our Maker's hands,  
__From the lowest slaves to the highest kings.  
__Those who bring harm  
__Without provocation to the least of His children  
__Are hated and accursed by the Maker_."

The Grand Cleric motioned for Cailan to come forward, then held out her hands and began to administer the oath.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of Ferelden according to our laws and customs?"

"I solemnly promise so to do," Cailan replied.

"Will you solemnly promise to use your power in law and justice, tempered by mercy, in all your judgments?"

"I solemnly promise so to do."

"Will you, to the utmost of your power, maintain the Laws of the Maker and of the Chant of Light? Will you maintain and preserve the doctrine, worship and discipline of the Chantry? And will you preserve unto the Chantry all its lawful rights and privileges?"

"All this I promise so to do. In the Maker's name, I swear."

Revered Mother Perpetua stepped forward, turning to address those gathered in the hall. "I ask the people: Do you wish for such a ruler?"

As one, the people in the hall gave the traditional response: "We wish it and grant it."

At the Grand Cleric's urging, Cailan bent down on one knee. Elemena anointed his forehead with oil, its fragrance filling the air with the scent of pungent herbs. Then she set the crown upon his head, and bade him rise. He was given a sword, to represent his promise to protect his people and the Chantry, and the scepter that was the symbol of his powers as the king.

Then, Grand Cleric Elemena gave the final prayer.

"_Those who oppose thee  
__Shall know the wrath of heaven.  
__Field and forest shall burn,  
__The seas shall rise and devour them,  
__The wind shall tear their nations  
__From the face of the earth,  
__Lightning shall rain down from the sky,  
__They shall cry out to their false gods  
__And find silence_."

She opened her arms, in a gesture that took in the whole of the room, perhaps the whole of Ferelden. "I give you Cailan Theirin, King of Ferelden. Maker save the king!"

The crowd's response filled the room, echoing off the walls and the floors, almost deafening. "Maker save the king!"

Cailan looked around, blinking, as if he wasn't entirely sure what had just happened.

But then, he smiled. A smile that stretched across his face, parted his lips, filled his eyes with warmth. And for the first time, he looked like a king. With his crown and his sword and his armor, he looked like a king. Not as good a king as Maric; no one would ever be as good a king as Maric. But Cailan was a good man, who would do his best. And seeing him smile, Rhianna felt a glimmer of hope – the first she'd felt in days - that maybe everything would be all right, after all.

Now the coronation had ended, the nobles of Ferelden would swear fealty to their new king. The Grand Cleric excused herself, climbing the stairs to a seat reserved for her in one of the galleries. Cailan ascended the steps at the far end of the room, reaching to pull the cloak out of the way before he seated himself on the throne that awaited him.

A guard in ceremonial armor stepped forward, carrying a large staff and holding a scroll.

The guard struck the stone floor of the Great Hall three times, sharply. Then, he unrolled the scroll and read aloud:

"On this, the fourth day of Harvestmere in the twenty-fifth year of the Dragon Age, thou art welcomed to the court of King Cailan Therin, son to he who was King Maric Theirin and heir to the blood of Calenhad, First King of Ferelden. Bare not thy blade, and respect shall be shown to thee in turn."

In unison, the nobles made the appropriate response, Rhianna's voice among them: "Our blades are yours, my lord."

"Teyrn Bryce Cousland, approach the king," the guard intoned.

Rhianna's mother and father climbed the steps, with Fergus beside Eleanor and Rhianna next to Bryce. When they reached the top, Bryce stepped forward to bow on one knee in front of Cailan, taking his hand, while Eleanor and the children knelt behind Bryce. All four inclined their heads for a moment to the new king, and then looked up as Bryce spoke the words of the oath.

"I promise on the Chant of Light that I will be faithful to my King, never cause him harm, and observe my homage to him completely against all others. I give my oath in good faith and without deceit."

Cailan motioned for the Couslands to rise. The king stood, stepping forward to embrace the teyrn. Bryce seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then returned the embrace. When they pulled apart, Cailan grasped the teyrn's shoulders, and held him at arm's length.

"I should like for there to be no hard feelings," Cailan murmured. "About what happened yesterday?" Cailan's eyes were guarded, and for a moment Rhianna's stomach lurched. What if her father's response angered the king?

"I appreciate that, Your Majesty," her father replied. "More than I can say. Please know you have my support in all ways, at all times, whenever you should need it."

Cailan stared at her father for a moment, a slight frown on his face, but finally he smiled, and his eyes lit up with warmth. "I know that, Teyrn Cousland. And I thank you for it."

Rhianna let out the breath she had been holding. Was it possible the king really intended no grudge against her father for challenging the succession? Oh, that would be the most wonderful thing ever, if it were really true.

For a moment, all was quiet. Then, Cailan released Bryce's arms, and the Couslands descended the stairs, taking up a position along one side of the hall.

"Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, approach the king."

Loghain and Anora climbed the steps as the Couslands had done before them.

Loghain's deep voice echoed throughout the hall. "I promise on the Chant of Light that I will be faithful to my King, never cause him harm, and observe my homage to him completely against all others. I give my oath in good faith and without deceit."

Cailan and Loghain embraced, then Loghain and Anora descended the stairs.

In order of rank, the other nobles were called up, one by one. In less than an hour, the ceremony was complete.

"I hope," Cailan announced, "you will all stay and join me for the banquet that will follow, about an hour from now. In the meantime, please enjoy the hospitality of the palace and the gardens."

Cailan -_ King_ Cailan, she reminded herself - walked down the steps to Anora's side, offering her his arm. They looked lovely together, a handsome king and beautiful queen, just like in a storybook. Cailan tossed his head, laughing in response to something Anora had whispered to him, and for a moment he looked so much like King Maric it brought tears to Rhianna's eyes. Tears she fought back, turning away quickly, hoping no one had seen her moment of grief.

The moment Cailan announced the end of the fealty ceremony, both of Rhianna's parents had been surrounded by people. Everyone was keen to speak with the man who had challenged Cailan for the throne. Even though Bryce's bid had been unsuccessful, the vote had been close enough that most people seemed to consider it an impressive accomplishment.

The events of the previous day's Landsmeet were definitely something Rhianna did not want to talk about, nor hear others discussing; her stomach felt even worse anytime she thought about all that had happened yesterday. So she wandered to the edge of the room and tucked herself against one of the large beams supporting the wooden gallery above. With any luck, no one would notice her standing here, and she could be alone with her thoughts, for a few minutes at least.

She glanced around the hall, where people were milling about, talking in small groups. Now Cailan and Anora were talking with Cailan's uncle, Teagan Guerrin. Bann Teagan put a hand on Cailan's arm, and for a moment, Cailan's smile slipped away, and he looked so dreadfully sad. It must be difficult for him, losing his father like this. Even if her own father decided someday Rhianna would inherit the teyrnir, she would never look forward to the day she became Teyrna of Highever, because that would mean her father was gone.

Not that Maric was gone. Not really. She refused to believe he was dead. But until they could find him, it was miserable waiting and worrying and missing him so much.

Leaning her head back against the wooden post, she closed her eyes.

A few minutes later, a shadow fell across her face, dimming the light through her eyelids, as someone came to stand beside her. She caught a familiar scent - like grass, and leather, and parchment - and she knew who it was before she'd even opened her eyes.

"Hello, Teyrn Loghain." She did her best to smile.

"Rhianna." His smile, too, looked forced, and he looked tired, dark circles ringing his eyes, and a deep furrow across his forehead. He leaned against the wooden post opposite her own.

"It's strange, isn't it," she mused, looking out once more at the people in the hall. "It's almost like a party, except the only reason we're all here is because King Maric isn't. Which doesn't make for a very good party, does it?"

"No, it doesn't." He looked down at her for a long moment. "Lady Cousland," he said, offering her his arm, "would you care to walk with me out in the garden?"

This time, her smile was genuine. "Why yes, Your Grace. I would like that very much." She tucked her arm into his, and together, they left the palace.

Outside, the sun warmed her skin, but just barely, and the wind was chill. Though the snows hadn't come yet, winter was on its way.

Arm in arm, Rhianna and Loghain walked in silence, up one path, then down another. Their wandering had seemed random, until they ended up in a part of the garden Rhianna had never seen before, and she guessed this had been Loghain's destination all along: a pool of dark water, surrounded by horsetails and reeds, with floating lilies and patches of duckweed. This must be the duck pond her father had told her about years ago.

It wasn't large - only about fifty feet to the far end - but it was lovely. As one might expect from a duck pond, mallards and widgeons and gadwall floated placidly, diving into the water every so often to dabble for food, their feathery rear ends pointing towards the sky.

But the nicest thing about the pond was that it was deserted; no other people could be seen or heard. Located in the very farthest corner of the garden, there was something about it - a solitude hanging in the air - that made Rhianna suspect it rarely saw a lot of visitors.

They settled themselves on a bench next to the water. Rhianna leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and rested her chin in the palms of her hands. Beside her, Loghain stretched out his legs, leaning back against the bench with his hands clasped behind his neck. She peered down into the water to watch tiny fish swim by, and greeted a turtle who swam over and popped its head out of the water. Otherwise, the tranquility was undisturbed, except by the thoughts in her own head.

She missed King Maric. Perhaps it was stupid to keep worrying the subject in her mind, but she couldn't stop thinking about him. Where was he? What was he doing now? He could be injured, or sick. He could be stranded on an island, or perhaps he'd been captured by people who wished him harm. She knew wherever he was, he couldn't be happy about it. He wouldn't have chosen to leave Ferelden, not ever. So wherever the ship had sank, they just needed to find it, to find Maric and bring him home.

_Unless he is already dead_, a nasty voice whispered in her head.

No. King Maric wasn't dead. He just wasn't. She refused to believe something so terrible could happen.

And if Maric came home, maybe everyone would forget what had happened yesterday at the Landsmeet. Her father said not to worry, but Rhianna couldn't help it. Cailan seemed to forgive her father, judging by what he said during the fealty-swearing, but the whole thing was still so frightening. She'd paid enough attention to her tutor to know that history was filled with people who were killed for trying to take a throne, and failing. Probably that wasn't going to happen. Cailan didn't seem the sort of king to have people put to death. But there were other things a king could do to get back at someone who had crossed him.

And Cailan wasn't the only person whose opinion mattered.

She sat up to study Loghain's face. In profile, with his eyes closed, his mouth set in a faint frown, he looked older than ever before, and exhausted, and her heart ached for him. As much as she missed Maric, Loghain must miss him a great deal more.

With the back of her fingers, she reached up and stroked his cheek.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Loghain stretched his legs and leaned back against the bench. Sighing deeply, he closed his eyes, relaxing into the quiet he and Rhianna had found together. He enjoyed this part of the garden. It was peaceful, and he couldn't remember ever finding another soul out this far from the palace. Bringing Rhianna here, today of all days, seemed appropriate. It was obvious she hadn't been enjoying the gathering any more than he had. So he'd brought here her, where they could sit together without being surrounded by a palace full of chattering people.

He missed Maric. Of course, there were other things on his mind right now, urgent things, but it always came back to Maric. For most everyone else in Ferelden, it seemed three months was enough to take the edge off their grief, to go back to their lives as though nothing had happened. It was shocking, almost, to see people smiling and laughing and talking amongst themselves. Or perhaps it was just that it hadn't seemed like three months to Loghain, out at sea, searching in vain for his friend. Stranger still, it seemed as though everything had already shifted to accommodate Maric's absence. Almost as if he'd never been there in the first place.

Cailan's coronation, for example. The lad was now the King of Ferelden, in spite of having very little idea what that entailed. And the vote at yesterday's Landsmeet had been far too close. What in the world was Bryce thinking, challenging Maric's own son for the throne? It made little sense. Bryce was already one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, and to have risked so much for a claim that was bound to fail . . .

Except it might not have failed, had Eamon voted differently. Loghain sensed the Arl of Redcliffe was up to something, only he couldn't imagine what it could be. Cailan was his nephew, so why had he hesitated to cast his vote? Perhaps Eamon thought Rhianna might be a way for his young son to reach the throne, but had changed his mind at the last minute.

Either way, what had happened yesterday seemed foolhardy of Bryce. Foolhardy and stupid.

Ah well, none of that mattered now. Cailan had been crowned king, and soon Anora would be queen at his side. And the succession was, in some ways, the least of their worries.

The most pressing issue now was to predict how their neighbors would respond to the fact of a new and very inexperienced king. For once, Orlais was not Loghain's primary concern. Antiva and Nevarra, perhaps even Rivain seemed more likely to see this as an opportunity. If anything, Maric's disappearance might disrupt whatever machinations Celene already had in motion, assuming she had something in motion. An assumption Loghain always felt justified in having. Unless, of course, Celene was the one behind Maric's disappearance. That, too, was a possibility worth considering.

Regardless, it would be important to predict how this might play out, but that would need to fall to someone more clever than Loghain. Politics had never been his strong suit. Give him an enemy to face on the battlefield, and he'd tell you how to win. But politics? All the subterfuge and posturing, and smiling at people's faces while plotting against them behind their backs? No thank you. Fortunately, Anora seemed to have an innate sense of these things. Something, no doubt, that would serve Ferelden well in the coming years.

Strangely enough, Maric also had an innate sense of politics, although sometimes his naivety, his desire to believe the best in people, led him astray. Certainly he had been savvy enough to keep Orlais at bay for more than twenty years.

Damn him, anyway. Damn him for leaving, damn the Free Marches and their accord. Damn it all to the Black City.

Politics. Why was he even thinking about politics? Right now, none of that even mattered. Bryce, Cailan, Celene. None of it. All that mattered was Maric was gone, and Loghain had to find him. But where the hell was he? Loghain wasn't even sure where to start looking.

_And what if he's already dead?_

No. That, he refused to believe. It was just a matter of finding him, of finding the ship. And he had to find Maric. He had to. Because Loghain didn't know how he would go on without him, without his best friend. Even if the man was a fool, Maric's friendship meant . . . well, it meant everything. And of course, Maric wasn't really a fool. Foolish at times, yes. But never a fool.

And as much as Maric had relied on Loghain for companionship, Loghain had relied on Maric, as well. It hadn't mattered if Loghain even listened to Maric's chatter, so long as they were together. As long as they had one another, neither of them was alone in this world.

And now, Maric was gone.

But where? Maric wouldn't have sailed off for parts unknown intentionally, so where was that damned ship? No reports had been made of a wreck, and Rhianna's birds had found no sign of one. But if the ship was still afloat, where was it?

It didn't matter. Wherever it was, he would find it. Because without Maric, Loghain really was alone in this world.

Beside him, he sensed Rhianna sit up, and turn to face him. A moment later, he felt the touch of her fingers on his cheek, cool against his skin. Without opening his eyes, he reached up, covering her hand with one of his own. He turned her palm to rest on his face, then leaned into her hand, enjoying the warmth of her skin, grateful for her touch. Finally, he wrapped his fingers around hers, and pulled her hand away. Turning his face, he pressed his lips against her palm briefly before resting his arm on the bench between them, her hand still enclosed within his own.

It was a comfortable feeling, Rhianna's hand in his.

Perhaps he wasn't completely alone, after all.

He opened his eyes and turned to face her. She was studying his face, her eyes narrowed. She was probably thinking about Maric. The king's disappearance was clearly weighing heavily upon her.

When she spoke, however, it wasn't what he had been expecting.

"Are you angry with my father?" she asked. "For what happened yesterday at the Landsmeet?" Ah. Yes, it was no surprise this question would press on her, as well.

"Am I angry?" He considered the question.

Was he? During the Landsmeet, he'd been surprised, and shocked and disturbed, all in turn. It worried him the nobility, as a whole, thought so little of Cailan they seriously considered another king. And it was disconcerting Bryce Cousland had put himself forward, when the last thing Ferelden needed was conflict over the succession. But anger? Perhaps yesterday there had been anger, but today, he was too exhausted to feel more than deep disappointment.

"No, I'm not angry with your father. Not now. I'll admit, I was surprised. But I do believe he only wanted what was best for Ferelden. So, no. I'm not angry."

She visibly relaxed, as if a weight had gone from her shoulders. "Good. It seems as though Prince . . . I mean King Cailan isn't angry, either. I was worried he might be. That you both might be."

"Cailan isn't the sort to hold grudges. I don't think you have any reason to be concerned."

"I'm glad to hear that," Rhianna replied. "I don't think it was Father's idea, anyway. He never said anything about it to me, not until yesterday morning, right before the Landsmeet. Apparently, Arl Howe suggested it." She was quiet for a moment. "Father said if he were to be made king, Fergus would be Teyrn of Highever, and I'd have been named Father's heir. I think that's what Arl Howe wanted. For me to be the next queen. So he could have convinced Father he owed Howe something for helping him claim the throne. And that something would have been my marriage to Thomas or Nathaniel, so one of them would be king after Father's death."

Indeed. Apparently Rhianna Cousland also had an innate sense of politics.

Before he could think of a response, she continued, "And then last night, Arl Eamon came to the house to talk to my parents. I don't know what they talked about, though, since they sent me upstairs instead of letting me stay to listen."

Eamon? Eamon Guerrin spoke to Bryce _after_ the Landsmeet? What could that have been about? Perhaps Loghain's instinct was correct: the man really was up to something. But what?

"Were you disappointed?" Loghain asked. "That your father didn't win the vote, I mean. Would you have wanted him to be king?"

"No," she said without hesitation. "I didn't want him to be king. I mean, the idea of it is all right, I suppose. Father would have been a very good king. Probably better than Cailan will be, at least at first. And I expect, if I were really his heir, I would have lived in Denerim most of the time, and I would have missed Highever. Although being able to see you more often might have made up for that. Unless," she frowned, "you decided to go back to Gwaren, because Anora wasn't going to be queen after all. When you're not here, Denerim is horrible." She turned her gaze out over the pond. "And the thought that I would have been queen someday . . . well, that part was just scary. I've never wanted to be queen."

Rhianna fell silent, and for a few minutes, they sat together, not speaking. Nearby, a flock of tiny grayish brown birds streamed through the trees along the edge of the pond, chirping to one another as they pulled berries and insects from branches. They went from one tree to another and then another, swooping in twos and threes and fours from each tree to the next. Little waves of birds, dozens of them altogether. It was several minutes before the entire flock finished foraging, and moved along out of sight.

"I miss him so much." Her voice was barely audible.

Loghain released her hand and put his arm around her shoulders. She scooted closer to him, resting against his chest. He inhaled deeply, and let the breath out again slowly.

"So do I."

"I decided something, though." She turned her head to look up into his face. "I'm not going to cry anymore. I did cry, when Father first told me the ship hadn't arrived in Wycome. But I haven't cried since that day. Not even once. I felt like it, of course, at least a hundred times, because I miss him, and I'm so worried about him." She paused. "But he isn't dead, so there's no reason to cry. And it seems like crying . . . well, it would be like giving up on him. And I'll never do that."

Loghain pulled her closer, and rested his cheek against the top of her head.

"No, I don't intend to give up on him, either."

Again, they sat in silence for several minutes. This time, he was the one to break it. "So, how long have you been in Denerim?"

Rhianna sat up, pulling away from him just enough to look into his face while she spoke. "Nearly as long as you were gone. We left Highever the day after we got the message about the ship."

"And what have you been doing with yourself all this time?"

"Playing with Dane, or wandering around the market place with Hobbes." She sighed; it wasn't a happy sound. "Well, and of course I had to go to a lot of salons."

"You're not fond of salons?"

"Blech. No. I didn't used to mind them so much, when Mother was there and I got to sit with her and listen to the grown-ups talk. But she stayed behind in Highever until just a few days ago, and Father was in meetings all day long, so most of the time I had to go to the salons all by myself."

"I never liked going to salons," he admitted. "Fortunately, I can usually avoid them, but when I have been required to attend, I didn't like them much, either. Everyone sitting around, trying too hard to be pleasant. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Exactly. It's one thing to spend time with people you like, but having to talk to everyone, just to be polite? And feeling like half the time they're trying to trap you into saying more than you should, or waiting for you to make a fool out of yourself? I hate it."

"Was it really so horrible? You're . . . well, you don't seem to have a problem getting along with people. In my experience."

"Well, if by 'people' you mean you and King Maric, and my family, and Uncle Bryland, then that's true. Everyone else?" She wrinkled her nose in dismay.

"What about Anora? Surely she was at most of the same salons, and you get along well with her, don't you?"

"Yes, Anora was there, and I get along with her just fine. But Anora is one of the grown-ups now. She doesn't get sent out to 'play' with the rest of us. And I get stuck with Habren Bryland and Thomas Howe and all of Habren's stupid friends, like Alysanne Valdric and Tanith Curwen. And when Habren is awful to me, everyone else just goes along with her. Except Delilah Howe. She's nice to me, but she's pretty much the only one."

"Habren Bryland treats you badly? In what way?" They never had discovered who locked Rhianna in that tower all those years ago; perhaps the Bryland girl did have something to do with it, after all. "She's never hurt you, has she? Physically, I mean."

"Unfortunately not." Rhianna chuckled. "I wish she would. If she hit me, I could hit her back, and she would be sorry. But she only says things. And not even directly to me most of the time. She says things about me to other people, when she knows I'm close enough to hear. Just the other day, she made up a poem about me, and I know it's meant to be mean, even though I don't completely understand it."

She sighed again. "I'm sorry for complaining. I know I shouldn't. Father says it's my duty to go the salons so I can hear all the things that get talked about away from the Landsmeet. And I used to feel like I learned interesting things, when I got to sit with Mother. I learned all about politics and who was allying themselves with whom and squabbles in the Bannorn and relations in the south. But now? All I ever hear about is Habren's new dress, or which of Tanith's father's knights is handsome, or how Thomas lost an entire sovereign playing dice with some boys in the marketplace, then accused them of cheating so he could get his money back, even though they had won fair and square. And, of course, I get to hear all about how ugly and stupid I am." She rolled her eyes. "Nothing that's going to help my father understand the political situation in Ferelden any better."

She sat up abruptly, and looked into Loghain's face. "What does it mean to 'finish wherever?'"

He didn't understand the question. "Finish what?"

Rhianna opened her mouth as if to speak then snapped it closed again. "Oh, never mind," she grumped.

Now he was curious. "No, what? You can talk to me about anything, Rhianna. You know that."

She frowned, but then she shrugged her head from side to side, as if conceding the point. "Well, it's from the poem Habren's been saying about me. I don't understand what it means, but I'm fairly certain it's dirty. Mostly because Habren wrote it, but also because everyone laughs rather a lot when she says it."

"Poem?"

Rhianna took a deep breath.

"_There once was a girl from Highever,  
__Who would tell all the boys to stop never.  
__On her back or her knees,  
__She would do as they pleased,  
__And she told them to finish wherever._"

"It's the part about being on my back that makes me think it's dirty," she added. "That it's about . . . you know . . . about . . . sex. But I don't understand the rest. Finish what? And what would I be doing on my knees? Scrubbing the floor?"

Maker's balls.

She looked up at him, blinking, waiting for him to give her an answer.

Maker's balls!

_There once was a girl from Highever?_ What sort of person makes up a limerick like this? About _Rhianna_? On her back or her knees?

Damn the Bryland girl, anyway.

And just what in the Maker's name was he supposed to say? Rhianna was staring up at him, a slight frown on her face. Waiting. He needed to say _something_. But what? What could he possible say about a poem like that?

Maker's _balls!_

When he said she could tell him anything, he hadn't anticipated something like this.

"Perhaps," he suggested, "you should talk about this with your mother."

"My mother?" Rhianna bit her lip. "I . . . I don't know. Mother and Father get angry with me when I complain about Habren. Besides, I don't want them know it bothers me. They'll think I'm a baby, and then I'll never get to do things on my own, ever."

"Oh." Of course she wouldn't want to tell her parents about this. "All right. Um . . . all right. The poem. Let me see . . ." What could he say that would explain this properly without being ridiculously inappropriate?

"You're right. The poem is about . . . sex." He frowned. "You do know about sex, right? How it happens?" Heat erupted across his cheeks, and he realized - infuriatingly - he was blushing. When was the last time that had happened? He honestly couldn't remember, but right now he was certain his cheeks were flaming red with embarrassment. Andraste's arse. How did he manage to stumble into a conversation like this? With _Rhianna_? He'd never had a conversation anything like this with Anora.

"I guess so," Rhianna answered. "I mean, I've seen animals do it before. Cows and sheep and horses. Dogs. A pair of badgers, once. The male puts his . . . thing into the female, right?"

Damn, damn, _damn_! He should have sent the girl to her mother.

"Yes," he said slowly, gazing out over the water instead of looking at her face. "That's the basic idea. And that is what the poem is about, really. About doing . . . it."

"I still don't understand. I mean, I suppose the part about being on my back makes sense. That's how people do it, right? Laying down, face to face?"

"That is one way. But sometimes people do . . . it . . ." His voice trailed off.

Andraste's arse. This was possibly the most awkward conversation he had ever had in the entirety of his life. But there was nothing else to do but forge ahead.

"Sometimes people do it other ways. Other than just lying down." He glanced at her. "You'll understand better when you're older. But in any case, you don't need to worry about it. Everyone will know it's just Habren being mean, and not anything that's true about you."

Damn the Bryland girl anyway.

"All right." Rhianna seemed satisfied with his answer, thank the Maker. "So, she's just saying I like to have sex with people? That's kind of a stupid thing to write a poem about isn't it? I just wish . . . well, I wish I could get her to stop."

Yes. This sounded like a way to shift the subject to something new. "Have you tried? Tried standing up to her?"

"No. I suppose not."

"You do know why she's so awful to you, right?"

"Not really, no. I've never done anything bad to her, not that I can remember."

"It's not about anything you've done, Rhianna. It's about who you are. She's jealous. You are everything Habren Bryland is not, but desperately wishes she was. You're the daughter of a teyrn, and she's the daughter of an arl. Which shouldn't make any difference, but in Denerim it does. On top of that, you're also pretty and smart and funny and people like you. All of which makes Habren jealous. So she's cruel in the hope it will make you feel bad about yourself. As if, by making you feel small, Habren somehow gets to feel bigger. But it doesn't work, not really. Because at the end of the day, you're still the very lovely Rhianna, smart and pretty and all the rest of it. And she's still Habren. I'd almost feel sorry for her, if she weren't making up dirty poems about you."

Rhianna studied Loghain's face. "So, I should just ignore her, then? That's what my parents seem to think."

"That's one way. Although, standing up for yourself might not be a bad idea. Telling her to stop. After all, when it comes right down to it, you do outrank her, and always will. Maybe if she were reminded of that, she would think twice about tormenting you. Or, you could just punch her in the face."

Rhianna giggled. "Don't tempt me. I can't tell you how many times I've dreamed of punching her in her stupid face."

"Well, if you do it, just don't say I gave you the idea." He winked at her.

"Of course I will. I'll say it was all Teyrn Loghain's idea. He's such a bad influence!" She started to laugh, but then the smile slipped away from her face. "Honestly, though, I would never say that. My parents might not want me to talk to you anymore, and I don't think I could bear for that to happen. I don't know what I would do if it weren't for you." Her eyes grew wide as she remembered something. "Oh, I almost forgot. Look at this!" she exclaimed, pulling up her skirt to expose the bottom half of her leg. Strapped to her ankle was the dagger he'd given her. "I wear it all the time. I never go out of the house without it."

"Good."

And with that, he was certain the topic of Habren's damned poem was put behind them.

Thank the Maker.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "So, how many times have you had to use it? I assume you've fought off at least a dozen bandits by now, yes?"

She giggled. "No. I haven't had to use it at all. Well, once I cut through a piece of vine Dane had gotten tangled around his legs. But no bandits." Rhianna bit her lip, and gave him a side-long look.

Loghain narrowed his eyes at her. "What's that look for?"

"I was just wondering . . . When are you going to leave? To look for Maric, I mean?"

"About a month from now. After Anora and Cailan's wedding."

"Ah. That makes sense." She chewed again at her bottom lip.

"What are you thinking?" Clearly, there was something on her mind.

She stared at him for a moment, then she shrugged and shook her head. "Nothing. I expect the wedding will be beautiful, won't it?" she said, changing the subject.

•o•o•o•o•o•

When they returned to the great hall, Rhianna rejoined her parents, as the feast was just about to be served. The food was very fancy: course after course of superbly prepared delicacies, some of which Rhianna had never even imagined, let alone tasted before. So, this was what it was like to welcome a new king. Maybe they had so much lovely food to try and make everyone forget how sorry we are the old king isn't here anymore.

After dinner, once again, the guests formed into small knots, to say their goodnights and make plans for the rest of the week. Now that the succession had been decided and the coronation complete, there really wasn't much call for political meetings, but hardly anyone intended to leave Denerim. What was the point of returning home when the royal wedding would take place a month from now? So, an impromptu "season" had begun, and already the nobles were gearing up to see who could provide the best entertainment, whose salons would be "the" ones to attend.

As Rhianna rose from the table, preparing to follow her father, she was intercepted by Anora Mac Tir.

"Rhianna, could I possibly have a word with you?"

"Of course," Rhianna agreed. It was funny Anora had asked so formally. Then again, Anora had always been like that - acting like a proper grown up with impeccable manners - as long as Rhianna could remember.

"I was hoping," Anora began, "you and I could have lunch together one day soon. Perhaps the day after tomorrow, if you don't already have another engagement?"

"I don't have anything planned for the day after tomorrow," Rhianna replied. "I would love to have lunch with you."

"Lovely. It will be just the two of us, then. I'll send a carriage for you at mid-day, to bring you to the Gwaren Estate. Unless you would rather have lunch at the Gnawed Noble?"

Oh. That was a difficult choice. She'd only been to the Gnawed Noble a few times. That's where everyone went to drink ale and tell stories, and it always seemed so exciting. But if they had lunch at the Gwaren Estate, maybe Teyrn Loghain would join them.

"I'd rather have lunch at Gwaren House, if it's not too much trouble."

Anora smiled. "It's no trouble at all. I'll send a carriage for you just before noon, day after tomorrow."

"You don't have to send a carriage. I know the way, and it's not at all far from Highever House. I'm more than happy to walk."

"No, I insist." Ah. Anora was probably remembering when Rhianna had been locked away in the tower. Everyone seemed to remember it; that was the reason Rhianna wasn't allowed to go anywhere by herself. "I'll send a carriage."

"All right." She had a thought. "Would you like to meet my puppy? He's a mabari. I just got him for my birthday. If you don't like dogs I can leave him at home, but if you do like dogs, he is very cute. Would you like to meet him?"

"I would love to meet your mabari." Anora sounded sincere. "Please do bring him. I'll have cook fix something special just for him."

The daughters of Ferelden's two teyrns bid one another a good evening, and Anora walked away to speak with someone else, while Rhianna looked around for her father.

Oh, no. He was across the room, talking to Uncle Leonas, Lady Harriet, and - horror of horrors - Habren Bryland. Rhianna started to turn and walk in the other direction before her father noticed her, but he saw her and waved her over before she could make an escape.

As she crossed the room, trying not to drag her feet, she felt someone fall into step beside her. Teyrn Loghain.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Let Habren do her worst. We'll take her down together." She looked up at him, and he winked.

"Ah, there you are, Pup," her father said genially when they joined the conversation. "We were just talking about you."

"You were?" she asked, feeling a flutter of something uncomfortable in her stomach.

"Oh yes" Lady Harriet gushed. "Your father claims not to have heard anything about the invitation to our salon for tomorrow. Habren's been planning it for weeks. It's to be her first time hosting her own salon, in the South Reach Estate. It's quite an achievement for her."

"Invitation?" Rhianna asked, genuinely confused. "I don't remember getting an invitation for anything tomorrow."

Habren smirked, while her aunt replied, "Don't be ridiculous, dear. Habren sent them out two weeks ago. I know you were on the list. We couldn't have a salon without Bryce's daughter, now, could we?" She gave Rhianna's father a rather exuberant grin.

"Oh," Habren simpered, "but if Rhianna's invitation got . . . lost, somehow, I'm sure she won't be able to come. I mean, we're getting to have a whole second season now, with the royal wedding approaching. And Rhianna has so many friends, I'm sure her social calendar has been filled up for ages. I mean, who wouldn't already have plans for the very next day?" She smiled nastily, and the uncomfortable feeling in Rhianna's stomach worsened, as she realized she was being set up.

Her father, however, failed to grasp the significance. "Oh, I'm sure Rhianna is available tomorrow, aren't you, Pup? And you'd love to attend Habren's salon."

Before she could think of what to say, Loghain interrupted. "Forgive me, Bryce, but tomorrow? That's . . . unfortunate timing. I had planned to take your daughter out riding tomorrow." He glanced at Rhianna. "To the coast. To look for sea lions."

Oh, Maker bless him. "Yes, that's right," Rhianna agreed. "We're going to look for sea lions."

"Sea lions?" Lady Harriet sounded confused. "What in the world is sea lion?"

"They're like seals," Rhianna explained, "only bigger and they have earflaps on the sides of their heads. They're quite interesting. We have them near Highever, and Teyrn Loghain says he's seen them at Gwaren as well, but neither one of us know if they live near Denerim."

"So," Loghain added, "Rhianna and I are going to go out and see for ourselves. It's the least I could do, after how gracious she's always been, escorting Maric and I around Highever whenever we come to visit. Of course . . ." he said, turning to Rhianna, "we could postpone our trip, Rhianna, if you'd really rather attend the salon."

What? What was he saying? Of course she didn't want to attend the salon! Why would he make up a story about plans, only to suggest she go to the salon anyway?

But Lady Harriet interrupted before Rhianna could think of anything to say. "Oh, no!" she insisted. "Rhianna, you can't possibly break the engagement you have with _Teyrn_ Loghain." She frowned deeply at the girl, as if Rhianna had been the one to suggest something very impolite. "We'll just have to figure out some way to get along without you. I do hope your mother will be able to attend, at least."

Bryce glanced from Harriet, to Loghain, to Rhianna, a slight frown on his face, as though he suspected something wasn't quite right about this, but couldn't decide exactly what.

Rhianna glanced at Loghain out of the corner of her eye, giving him the quickest of conspiratorial grins. But Lady's Harriet's next words drove away some of her good cheer.

"You will have to come and have lunch with us one day this week, though, Rhianna. I won't take no for an answer. How about the day after tomorrow? Hopefully you don't yet have anything planned? Habren and I have the entire day free."

"The day after tomorrow?" Rhianna tried to contain her surprise, and her pleasure. "Oh, Lady Harriet, I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid I can't make it the day after tomorrow, either."

"You can't?" Her father was unable to keep the surprise from his voice. "What are you doing the day after tomorrow?"

"I'm having lunch with Lady Anora."

"Lady Anora is having a luncheon party?" Lady Harriet frowned. "This must be some sort of last-minute affair. Habren and I have not yet received our invitations."

"Oh, I don't believe it's going to be a party," Rhianna replied. "Lady Anora said it would be just the two of us." To her father, she added, "She's going to send a carriage for me, just before noon. I told her I'd be happy to walk, but she insisted. Dane's to come with me, as well."

Bryce laughed. "Well, Rhianna. I can see I have some catching up to do with you and your busy schedule. Are there any other outings planned of which I should be aware?"

"No." Then she had an idea, and decided to take a calculated risk. Although it didn't seem like too much of a risk. "Well, not really. Except Teyrn Loghain and I are going to spend some time training over the next few weeks. At Fort Drakon. Isn't that right?" She turned to Loghain and smiled brightly.

"Fort Drakon. Yes. Although I had thought we might also train outside the city. I want to see how you're coming along with your bow from the back of a horse. That's difficult to manage inside the fort."

Rhianna rewarded him with the most brilliant smile she could manage. Oh, this was wonderful. Not only had she managed to get out of the salon and lunch at the South Reach estate, but they would go riding tomorrow to the coast, and now they'd be able to train together as well. This was the best thing that could have happened. And all thanks to Habren trying to be so awful.

Eleanor and Fergus approached, coming to stand next to Rhianna. "Are you about ready to leave, dear?" Eleanor asked her husband.

"Certainly. We were just reviewing the details of our daughter's surprisingly busy social calendar for the next week."

'Indeed?" Eleanor, her brow furrowed, glanced at Rhianna.

"Yes, Mother. Teyrn Loghain and I plan to go riding tomorrow. So, unfortunately, I won't be able to attend Habren's salon."

"Oh, well riding sounds lovely." To Habren, "I didn't realize you were having a salon. But I don't have anything planned for tomorrow, so I'll make sure to come along."

Loghain turned to Rhianna. "Shall I call for you first thing in the morning? It's a good two hour ride to where I think we should start looking, so we should get a reasonably early start."

"I'll be up at day break, so anytime after that will be fine."

"All right. I'll be by right after breakfast, then." He gave her a rather formal bow, then nodded at the others. "And with that, I'll say my good nights." Loghain turned, and began walking through the hall to where Anora was standing with Cailan.

As she watched him walk away, Rhianna remembered something important.

"Oh, excuse me!" she said to her parents, "There's something I forgot to tell the teyrn." She hurried after Loghain, catching up with him before he'd made it to his daughter.

•o•o•o•o•o•

"Teyrn Loghain!" Rhianna rushed up to him, grasping him by the arm.

This was a surprise, although not an unpleasant one. "Be careful you say," he warned. "You don't want anyone to catch on to what we did back there." Although his voice was stern, he gave her a wink, which made her giggle.

"No, don't worry. I'm not going to say anything to give us away," she whispered. "Although you gave me quite a scare just now. What were you thinking, saying we could postpone our trip so I could attend the salon? What if Lady Harriet had insisted?"

"There was no chance of that, Rhianna. I've known Harriet Bryland for nearly thirty years, and appearances and social standing are everything to her. The woman is constitutionally incapable of allowing you to cancel your plans with a teyrn, even for her own niece's salon. I promise, you were never in any danger. And if by some strange twist of fate she had insisted, I would invited myself along, and made certain you weren't forced to spend the day being taunted by Habren and her friends."

"Oh. All right. Although for a minute there, I thought you had lost your mind," she giggled. Then, her expression grew serious. "But there is something I need to tell you. There's a problem with going riding tomorrow."

"Oh. You've decided you would rather attend Habren's salon, after all. For its historical significance, perhaps?"

She giggled again, loudly, and brought her hands to her mouth to stifle the noise. "No, silly." She swatted at his arm playfully, "I'm serious." She stopped laughing, and continued. "I want to go riding, only I don't have a horse to ride."

"What happened to Carrot? Nothing's wrong with her, I hope."

"Oh, she's fine. Sort of. She hurt her leg, not long after the festival. And it hadn't healed properly before Father and I came to the city. To be honest, I'm not sure it ever will. So, I can't ride her. She's back in Highever, living with the other horses, and she's happy enough. But it means I don't have a horse to ride here in Denerim."

"That's not a problem. We'll stop at the royal stables and find a mount for you."

"Really? That's not a problem?"

"Far from it. Most of the horses don't get ridden often enough, in my opinion. You'll be doing us a favor, giving one of them some exercise."

"Oh, that's wonderful." She smiled happily. "Thank you."

"Of course."

"All right, then. Good night. Again."

As she turned to go, a question occurred to him. He grasped her arm to stop her.

"Are you really having lunch with Anora? The day after tomorrow?"

"Of course I am. She invited me to lunch just before we started talking to Lady Harriet. Did you really think I might have been making that up?"

"I don't know. With you, anything's possible."

"No," she giggled. "I'm not nearly cheeky enough to do something like that."

"Oh, I see. You're only cheeky enough to make up something like us training together at Fort Drakon?"

She gasped. "You're one to talk. Taking me to see the sea lions, indeed."

"I didn't make that up!" he insisted. "I did promise to take you to the sea lions the next time we were in Denerim. Well, perhaps I didn't promise. Come to think of it, I might not have ever mentioned it. But I'd been planning to ask you. You certainly caught on quickly enough. You do want to try and find sea lions tomorrow, don't you?"

"Of course I do. You know better than to ask that. And don't worry. Your secret is safe with me, considering it's my secret, too." She giggled again, then smiled up at him gratefully. "Thank you, Teyrn Loghain. You really are the best." She reached up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, before hurrying off toward her parents.

He watched her go, enjoying the warmth on his cheek where she had pressed her lips to his skin. He was glad he'd managed to get her out of what promised to be the most dreadful salon yet, and with a minimum of subterfuge. And he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do on the morrow than ride with her to the coast. With any luck, they'd find sea lions; she'd enjoy that.

As he turned to look for his own daughter, he caught a glimpse of Eamon Guerrin. His eyes, too, had been tracking Rhianna's progress across the room. Just what was that all about? And why had the Arl of Redcliffe paid the Couslands a visit the night before? He felt certain it had something to do with Rhianna. But what?

The thought left him feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

•o•

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•o•

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•o•

_Note: Thank you to Xogs, my marvelous beta, and also to my lovely reviewers: DutchNight, Psyche-Sinclair, WardenVaer, milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Doom-N-GloomGal, and RobinGrace. _


	27. Bonny Alamar

_**5 Harvestmere, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Near Denerim**_

•o•

Rhianna loved the smell of the stables. The earthiness, the dark rich scents of hay and leather, of seasoned wood and sweat and manure. Other people complained, seemed to find the odors unpleasant, but everything smelt so raw and real to her, made her feel part of nature, and she loved it.

Loghain brought Rhianna to the royal stables, just outside of the city walls, to find a mount she could borrow for the day. These horses were kept for the use of Maric's Shield, Ferelden's elite military company. Maric's Shield had been established by Loghain himself after the end of the Rebellion, and he was still its commander.

Side by side, Rhianna and Loghain walked past each of the stalls. Dane was cradled in Rhianna's arms, too excited by all the sounds and smells to be trusted running free among the horses. They stopped in front of one of the stalls, and Loghain pointed to a grey mare.

"What about her?" Loghain suggested. "She's gentle, but fast for a palfrey. I suspect you'd get along well together."

Before Rhianna could answer, there was a sharp thud behind them as another of the horses pawed at door of his stall. Rhianna turned and found herself face to face with a young destrier, uniformly dark brown, so dark he was almost black. He was not particularly tall - fifteen hands, barely big enough to be considered a horse and not a pony - but he had powerful flanks, a straight profile, and a well-arched neck.

When he saw he had Rhianna's attention, he perked his ears forward, and flared his nostrils as if wanting to catch her scent on the air. Then he stepped back and pawed once again at the door, more gently this time.

"Oh, he's gorgeous!" Rhianna exclaimed. "May I ride him?"

The stable master hurried over. "Teyrn Loghain, don't let the girl near that one. He's got a bad temper and he's not yet properly trained. She'll not be able to handle him!"

"I'll be able to handle him," Rhianna assured the man before turning to Loghain. "Let me take him out and show you. Please. He wants me to ride him."

"All right," Loghain agreed.

"I beg of you, Your Grace," the stable master insisted, "don't allow her to get on that beast. He's thrown every single person as has tried to ride him. He's just plain nasty. I don't want the young lady to get hurt."

Loghain turned to the stable master. "It will be all right Tom," he reassured. "You'll see. Rhianna has a way with animals. I'll take full responsibility, but I promise you, she's not going to get hurt." To Rhianna, he said, "Go on. You can take him out into the yard."

"Thank you." Rhianna glanced at the stable master, who still looked unconvinced, but didn't complain when Rhianna put Dane into Loghain's arms and opened the stable door.

The horse inclined his head toward her, and pawed once at the ground with his front foot. Rhianna reached a hand out, slowly, and waited for him to calm. He took a single step forward, pressing his nose up to sniff at her palm. She began to stroke his face with smooth, firm strokes, up the broad expanse of his forehead, and down the length of his cheek. He nudged her hand again, a friendly gesture, and, moving her hand to his neck, she led him out of the stall and outdoors into the riding pen.

"Do you want me to tack him up for you, milady?" the stable master asked nervously.

"Not yet. He doesn't like the saddle. Let me try him without one first." She turned to Loghain. "Will you give me a boost?"

With Loghain's help, Rhianna swung herself up onto the horse's back. Even though he was small for a destrier, he was broader than any other horse she'd ever ridden, especially without a saddle. There was tightness in her thigh muscles as she settled onto his back. Her legs ached, but she eased into the stretch until she was comfortable. The horse stood calmly beneath her all the while, waiting for her to signal she was ready.

She wound her fingers into his mane, and clucked her tongue. With his head held high, he began to move forward, picking up each foot and placing it down very deliberately. She urged him on with her calves, and he increased his pace slightly, walking along the edge of the circular yard.

After they'd gone once around the yard, his body tensed with the desire to go faster, to burst into a run, but Rhianna held him back. She didn't want him to overexert himself before his muscles were properly warmed. _Soon, my friend_, she soothed. _I promise, we can go fast as soon as I'm sure we're both ready._

When they'd walked around the yard a couple more times, she allowed him to speed up into a trot. At one side of the yard, Loghain stood with his arms crossed in front of his chest, a satisfied smile on his face. Nearby, the stable master watched with his mouth hanging open.

After a few more circuits, it was clear her mount was desperate to run, and that was exactly what Rhianna wanted, too. Beside Loghain, Rhianna urged the horse to a stop. "May I take him out onto the road? See how fast he can go?"

"I don't see why not," Loghain replied.

"Your Grace," the stable master muttered, "Are you sure that's a good idea? That horse . . . I just don't think he can be trusted."

"It will be all right, Tom. Rhianna wouldn't take him out if she didn't trust him. Just watch."

With a click of her tongue, Rhianna nudged the horse with her calves, and he wasted no time in moving forward. Beneath her, she could feel his enthusiasm, feel his heart beating and his muscles flexing in preparation for a run, and finally, she allowed him to do what he wanted, to speed up into a canter. Feeling the triple beats of his gait beneath her, she rode him around the practice yard once, then a second time, and before they completed their third circuit, Rhianna leaned forward and urged him up and over the yard's short wooden gate.

As soon as they were out of the yard, the horse broke into a gallop, and together they flew up the road away from Denerim.

Rhianna had never ridden so fast before. The destrier, though he had been bred for war and not for speed, was a marvel. His bulging muscles moved beneath her like waves, the motion punctuated by his feet drumming on the ground below. They were moving so fast, and he spent so little time with his feet touching the earth, she felt as though they were flying.

With the briefest of thoughts in her mind, and a slight lean to the left, Rhianna urged the horse off of the road and out onto a wide grassy plain. As they rode through the field dotted with wildflowers, Rhianna's hair came free of its braid. She leaned forward, wanting to move with the horse beneath her as he stretched and contracted through the gallop. She released her hold on his mane and laid her hands against either side of his neck, delighted by the speed and the sunshine and the feeling of the horse beneath her and the way her hair was whipping in the wind. Nothing had ever felt like this before, so free, so perfect, not just her own joy but the horse's joy as well, as he shared with her his strength and his thunder and his fire.

When her mount began to tire after this amazing burst of energy, Rhianna remembered Loghain was waiting for her, and turned back toward the stables. Approaching at a canter, she gripped the horse's mane and urged him back over the fence.

Bringing himself beside Loghain and the stable master, the horse powered himself to a stop with his haunches. Even without seeing the horse's thoughts, Rhianna could tell he was proud of himself. He'd done well, and he knew it, and he wanted Loghain and especially the stable master to know it.

Tom, the stable master, looked on in utter disbelief. "Maker's Breath. I've never seen such a thing. Where did you learn to ride like that?"

"In Highever," Rhianna replied. "I've been riding since I was small. But really, I didn't do much of anything. He's the one who did all the work. What's his name, by the way?"

"Faolan."

"Faolan?" Rhianna rubbed the horse affectionately on the neck. "I think that means little wolf. That suits you, doesn't it, boy?" The horse whinnied softly in agreement. Rhianna turned to Loghain. "May I take him out today? Please? He's really lovely and he wants so very much to go."

Loghain chuckled. "Do you think there is any chance I would say no, after that display? Of course you may take him out."

Elated, Rhianna slipped down from Faolan's broad back. "Let's get you saddled up then, shall we?"

•o•

They arrived at the coast well ahead of schedule. Rhianna and Faolan were enjoying themselves so much, riding swiftly across the countryside with Dane tucked under one of Rhianna's arms, that it took far less than two hours. Now, Rhianna urged her mount next to Loghain's - a massive destrier called Aeran – while Loghain surveyed the coastline.

"Here," he said, pointing to a long stretch of craggy, rocky coastline which appeared to be inaccessible from above, "is where I thought we might find sea lions. These rocks seem closest in terrain to the cave where you took me and Maric."

For the next two hours, they rode along the cliffs, stopping every so often so Loghain could pull out his spyglass and have a closer look at anything that looked vaguely sea lion-ish from afar. Unfortunately, they were unable to locate any of the animals, although they did see a whale spout in the distance, and were visited by a great many seabirds, and a family of deer.

Just after mid-day, Rhianna suggested they stop for lunch, so they rode the horses down to a beach where they could look out over the water without being battered by the wind. Loghain laid out a blanket and the lunch his cook had packed for them, and they settled down to eat.

"Are you disappointed we didn't find any sea lions?" he asked.

"No, I'm not disappointed," Rhianna replied. "Perhaps there just aren't any here to find, and we saw plenty of other lovely things. Besides, I'm just happy to be spending the day . . ." She cut herself off before finishing the sentence: _I'm just happy to be spending the day with you_.

Maybe it would be best not to say something like that. Especially after those things King Maric had said that day at the waterfall. She didn't want Loghain to think she was some idiotic lovesick girl.

"Just happy to be what?" Loghain prompted.

"Um . . . happy to be spending the day out of the city," she amended. "An entire three months in Denerim without going outside the city walls was . . . tiresome, to say the least. Are you going to have lunch with us tomorrow?" she asked, changing the subject before she was tempted to say something else embarrassing. "With me and Anora, I mean."

"No. I wasn't invited."

"But it's your house," Rhianna giggled. "I can't imagine you need to be invited to lunch in your own house!"

"Well, it's Anora's house as well, for a few more weeks anyway. And she's allowed to have her own guests. Besides, I suspect Anora has something she wants to discuss with you. In private."

"Something she wants to discuss? Privately?" That was intriguing. "What sort of thing? Do you know what it is?"

Loghain's eyes narrowed and one brow raised as he looked over at her. "Perhaps." Then one corner of his lips curved up.

Clearly, he knew exactly what it was Anora wanted to discuss.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to tell me?"

"No," he replied.

Rhianna's jaw dropped. "What do you mean, 'No?'"

"I should have thought that was one of the very first words you learned, right along with 'mummy' and 'sweets.'"

"That's not what I meant," she huffed. "Why aren't you going to tell me?"

"Because Anora asked me not to. She has something to ask you, and it's a very nice something, but she wants to ask you herself, without me spoiling the surprise."

Something to ask? Just what in the world might Anora want to ask? Anora was just old enough the two girls had never really been "friends," although Rhianna certainly liked Anora, and thought Anora liked her, too. But Rhianna honestly couldn't think of a single thing Anora might want to ask.

Glancing at Loghain, Rhianna could see he meant what he'd said about not saying anything more.

"You're horrid," Rhianna teased. "Knowing a secret and not telling me."

"Ah, but secrets can be fun, can't they?" Loghain asked. "When they're good secrets."

"Of course," Rhianna admitted, "but it's really only fun for people who know the secret!"

"I suppose that's true. And after tomorrow, you will know the secret. That will be fun, yes?"

"I suppose so," Rhianna said, giggling. Obviously, nothing she said would make him budge. And even though she might tease him, she wasn't disappointed. Not really. Not if he'd made a promise not to tell. It was one of the things she liked best about Loghain: he was solid and trustworthy like that.

Dane, who had gobbled down some chicken and half of a pasty, was amusing himself by running up to the surf line, and barking furiously at the waves continually trying - and occasionally succeeding - to grab at his paws. After a few minutes of this, the puppy came running back to the blanket, making mournful eyes at both of his people in the hopes someone would come and play with him.

Rhianna pulled off her boots and began to roll up the hem of her trousers.

"All right, Dane. I'll splash in the water with you for a few minutes." To Loghain, she added, "Do you want to come wading with us?"

"No, thank you. I think I'll just relax in the sun for a while."

•o•o•o•o•o•

When Rhianna ran off to play with the puppy, Loghain lay down on his back, his hands clasped behind his head. He closed his eyes, and enjoyed the feeling of the sun warming his skin. In the distance, Rhianna's voice carried above the sound of the waves, as did the happy barking of her puppy. The sounds brought a slow smile to his face.

This was a good day, and it had been an excellent idea to come out looking for sea lions, even if there were none to be found. Of course, he never failed to enjoy any of the days he had spent in Rhianna's company. What was it Maric had said that afternoon at the waterfall? Rhianna was one of Loghain's best friends. At the time, he had scoffed, along with everything else Maric had said during that ridiculous conversation, but Maric had been right about that much. Loghain and Rhianna were friends. Even if it might have seemed to others a highly unlikely friendship, there wasn't really any other word for the relationship they had forged together.

The time he spent with Rhianna was easy. Comfortable. Restful. Probably because she never asked anything difficult of him. No political favors, no pressure to back this or that scheme at the Landsmeet, no requests for funding, or for soldiers. Rhianna asked only for things he was happy to give: his company, and the occasional story.

And with Maric gone, Rhianna might be the only person in Ferelden who genuinely understood Loghain, who accepted him without judgment. And he tried to do the same for her. Especially now, with Maric gone Maker knows where, there was something about Rhianna's presence that made Loghain's anxiety subside, even if only for a few hours. Today, for the first time in months, Loghain felt perhaps things would someday be all right again.

Yes, there was no doubt Rhianna was, at this moment, the best friend he had in all of Ferelden.

After a while, he heard Rhianna and Dane return. Rhianna settled herself onto the blanket, while the puppy began digging in the sand.

"Trying to find a way through the earth, are we?" Rhianna asked, laughing softly. "You're making a mess, you know. And kicking far too much sand onto the blanket!"

Dane whimpered softly, then went back to digging.

"Is there a purpose to all of this?" she asked.

Dane huffed. Of course there was a purpose. He needed to see what was underneath! Maybe something wonderful was on the other side of all this sand.

"I suppose something wonderful might be on the other side," Rhianna replied. "But it's going to take some time, you know. You can't expect to dig all the way through in just one afternoon."

Once again, Dane whimpered, and once again the dog's little claws scrabbled through the sand.

"Oh, all right. If you insist. Good luck with that, then."

Loghain heard her shift her position, getting comfortable as she watched Dane tunnel to Par Vollen, or wherever it is one would end up after digging straight through the earth. After a few minutes, he heard her release her breath in a long sigh.

Loghain opened his eyes, and turned his head slightly to look at the girl. Her legs were stretched out in front of her as she sat propped up on her elbows, looking out to sea. The wind whipped through her hair, and he couldn't see enough of her face to gauge her mood. Probably, she was thinking about Maric. Certainly, anytime Loghain's mind started to wander, that's where it always ended up, and he suspected the same was true for Rhianna. She was fond of the king.

Then again, who wasn't? Maric was truly charming in every sense of the word, in an almost mystical sort of way. He'd charmed the banns of Ferelden into supporting him in spite of the reprisals they faced at the hands of the Usurper. He had charmed a bard into falling in love with him and betraying the Orlesians who had paid her to capture him. He had charmed Rowan into standing by his side in spite of everything else that had happened. He'd even charmed a surly, taciturn young man, a man who had never wanted anything to do with the Rebellion, into being his commander and his best friend.

No, it was no surprise Rhianna had loved him, and Loghain knew Maric felt the same about her.

Of course, it was possible she was thinking of other things. But something about the way she was looking out at the sea, searching, almost, made him suspect he had guessed correctly.

He let out a deep breath, and allowed his eyes to close again. There was only the sound of the waves and the puppy digging in the sand, and the occasional cry of a gull flying out over the water. After a few minutes, Dane gave up on his excavation, and flopped down onto the blanket. Almost immediately, the puppy was making soft snuffling sounds in his sleep.

Sleep. Now, that was tempting; it was possible even Loghain might be overtaken by the desire for a nap . . .

Then a new sound washed over him.

_"Oh, bonny Alamar, I'm sorry to see  
__Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree._"

It was Rhianna. Singing, very softly. He'd never heard her sing before, and her voice was lovely. Clear and smooth, rising and falling like water cascading over rocks. He opened his eyes, and rolled himself over onto one elbow, to watch her in profile.

"_For it stood on your shore for many's the long day,  
__'Till the longboats from Kirkwall came to float it . ._ ."

Rhianna's voice trailed off as she noticed him watching. "Oh, Teyrn Loghain, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I wasn't asleep." He paused. "Don't stop. Please."

Rhianna shook her head. "Oh." She wrinkled up her nose. "I don't know about that. I . . . I don't usually sing in front of people. I'm not sure why I even started singing just now. I'm horrible, I know." She gave a self-deprecating laugh.

"Horrible? Hardly. You have a lovely voice. And I would very much like to hear the rest of the song." He paused. "I know that song. My mother used to sing it."

"Your mother?"

"Yes. Where did you learn it?"

"From Nan. She used to sing to me sometimes when I was small. When she was still my nan. She's not anymore, she's the cook now, since I got too big for a nan."

Loghain chuckled. "And when did you get too big for a nan?"

"When I was eleven. Mother and Father decided I didn't need help anymore getting bathed and ready for bed, and I suppose they thought I didn't need someone watching over me every minute to make sure I wasn't going to do anything naughty."

He almost chuckled aloud. Did she really think that was the reason she had needed a nanny? Surely, it had been more to provide for Rhianna's safety, not to keep her from being "naughty."

"You've never told me anything about your mother," Rhianna continued. "Is she still alive?"

"No. She died during the Occupation."

"Oh. What happened to her?"

"She was killed. By chevaliers."

A frown marred the lines of her face. "How old were you?"

"About the same age you are now."

She caught and held his gaze, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You saw it happen, didn't you?"

Maker's breath. How did she guess that?

"Yes."

Her eyes grew bright, and she blinked once, slowly, as if trying to hold back tears.

"Will you tell me a story about her? A happy story?"

"A story?"

Rhianna wanted to hear a story about his mother?

It had been a very long time since Loghain had spoken to anyone about his mother. Surely, there were happy stories. He had loved his mother - both of his parents - so very much, and they loved him. But over the years, Loghain had rarely focused on the happy memories. Strangely, they seemed to hurt more. Or hurt differently, anyway. And since he knew he could never erase from his mind the image of how his mother died, he had never really tried. Instead, he used that memory to fuel his hatred of Orlais, to make certain he never stopped being vigilant, because he knew as well as anyone alive just how despicable and evil they truly were. And somehow the happy memories had receded. But they were there, surely.

Now Rhianna wanted a happy story. So he would have to find one.

"All right," he agreed. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"That afterwards, you'll sing the whole song for me. All the way through."

She wrinkled her nose for a moment, then chuckled. "Fair enough." Shifting her position in the sand, she turned to face him, tucking her legs underneath her body. Beside her, the puppy was still snoring softly as she looked up at him expectantly.

My mother," he began, "was a farmer. She was the daughter of farmers, and she married a farmer, and throughout her entire life, farming was what she knew best. She loved the land. She used to say land wasn't something we owned, something that belonged to us, but rather that we belonged to the land. That we had an obligation to care for it, to tend it carefully and lovingly, and to treat it with respect. As long as we did, it would always provide for us."

Rhianna nodded her understanding.

His mother would have approved very much of Rhianna had Loghain brought her home as a companion. They would have sat together talking about livestock, or the length of the growing season, or the best way to encourage a swarm of honey bees into a new hive. Cup after cup of hot tea would have been drunk, and when it came time to go out and feed the animals, Rhianna would have offered to help, and Loghain's mother would have loved the girl. But his mother had already been dead for nearly twenty years before Rhianna was even a glimmer in the eyes of her parents. And that thought made his head start to swim, so he pushed it away, and searched for something more to say.

"I have to admit it's tricky to think of one particular story," he continued. "I have a great many happy memories. How she took me out into the woods and taught me to shoot a bow. The way she would make soup for me when I was ill, and sit at the edge of my bed and feed it to me, even when I was far too old for her to baby me like that. Sometimes I was tempted to pretend I was sick, just so she would sit with me. I never actually did, though; it made extra work for her, and she worked hard enough as it was.

"I also remember the trips we took together each year to visit her family. We lived in Oswin, but she had been born in Rainesfere, so after bringing in the harvest, but before the snows fell, she and I would ride together on one of the horses that worked on the farm, and make the trip to see my grandmother, and my aunt and uncles."

"You rode a horse? From Oswin to Rainesfere? It would have been much faster to go by boat."

"Yes," he chuckled. "And Mother suggested that every year. But even back then, I wasn't particularly fond of boats."

"That's right. I'd forgotten." She frowned again. "And now you're sailing off Maker knows how far to look for King Maric."

That was a sobering thought. "Yes."

"So she took you to Rainesfere every year? Did you like going?"

"I did like going, and yes, we went every year. At least until we had to sell all the horses."

"Why would you sell your horses?" Rhianna asked. "Didn't you need them for the farm?"

"Of course we needed them, but the Orlesian noble who had been given the bannric required us to pay usurious taxes. So, we didn't have a lot of money. Of course," he added, "this was during the Occupation. No honest Fereldan had a lot of money. One year, it came down to selling the horses or losing the farm." The farm that would be lost soon enough in spite of selling the horses, as it turned out, but he wasn't about to go into that. No part of that story qualified as "happy."

Rhianna sat silent, waiting for him to continue.

Something happy. Pushing thoughts of horses and taxes and Orlais aside, he reached back into his memory, waiting for something to appear, his gaze fixed on a point in the distance he wasn't actually seeing.

Suddenly, there it was. A smile crept across his face at the thought of it.

"There is one night I remember very clearly. I was about eight, and Father was away. Probably having taken the harvest to market, but I don't remember for certain. I was asleep and my mother climbed up into the loft to wake me. I was scared at first. Usually, being woken in the middle of night meant something was wrong. At best, one of the animals was ill, or perhaps a neighbor was having a baby and mother had been called to assist with the birth. At worst, we all lived in fear of the day we'd have to flee for our lives when the Orlesians came to take the farm.

"On this night, though, none of those things were happening. When I asked her what was wrong, she shushed me, and told me not to worry, but that I should put on my boots and my cloak and come down right away. She was wearing her cloak, as well, and when I came downstairs, she took my hand and led me outside. We walked out into the middle of the field, and she lay down on the grass and said I should lie next to her.

"I thought for a moment that she'd gone mad. It was nearly freezing outside, and my cloak wasn't so warm I wanted to be outside at night if I didn't need to be. Maybe she knew the Orlesians were coming and this was where she had decided we should hide. But she didn't seem nervous or frightened. Instead, she smiled at me and pulled me down and cuddled me up against her. Then, she told me to look up in the sky.

"For a minute, I didn't see anything but the stars. The night was perfectly clear, and there were a million stars, and they were beautiful. But I still couldn't figure out just what Mother had brought me out here to see. Then, I saw the first one. A streak of light across the night sky, bright yellowish white. It began at one side of the sky and flew all the way over our heads nearly to the other horizon. 'Shooting stars,' she whispered to me. 'Every time you see one, you're supposed to make a wish. And it will come true.'

"Then, I saw a second one, and a third and a fourth. There were so many I wasn't able to count them all. My mother and I lay out on the grass like that for at least an hour before I fell asleep, curled up in her arms. The next morning, I woke up downstairs. She'd carried me into the house, and put me to sleep in her bed, and lay down with me. I don't think I'd ever been happier than that moment, when I woke up to see her sleeping beside me, her hair down, floating around her face on the pillow. Then she woke up, and smiled at me. She was so beautiful," he murmured, seeing his mother's face in his mind more clearly than he had seen it in many years. "Her eyes were blue, and her hair was dark, like yours." He felt heat behind his eyes and his vision blurred slightly.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he breathed through the emotions triggered by the memory of his mother's smile. Surprisingly, for the first time in years, there was no anger behind these feelings. Grief, yes, but also something else . . . something joyful. His mother had been taken from him far too soon, but the time they did have, the lives they lived together, he and his mother and father, had been happy, filled with laughter and love in spite of the chaos happening around them. It was good to remember that, important to remember how happy they had been.

"She sounds lovely," Rhianna murmured. "I think I would have liked her very much."

"I expect you would. And she'd have liked you, as well."

"Did you make wishes that night? On the shooting stars?"

"Some of them."

"And did they come true?"

He let out a breath. "Some of them."

Rhianna cocked her head to one side. "The Orlesians did go away, eventually. That one came true. But not the one about your parents."

Loghain snapped his head to look at her. Maker's blood. Had she read his mind?

"Why do you say that?" he asked.

"Well, aren't those the things you wished for? For the Occupation to end, and for you and your parents to be happy together on your farm, without anyone to bother you? That's what I would have wished for, anyway. If I'd been you. Well, I might also have wished for other things, too. Like puppies or maybe a lot of chocolate. Especially when I was eight. I definitely would have wished for puppies."

She giggled, and he realized she hadn't read his mind. She just understood him, understood the way his mind worked, perhaps because her mind worked the same way. Maybe they did have some sort of . . . connection, like Maric had said.

Or, maybe the things he'd wished for that night were obvious, what any eight-year-old child living Loghain's life would have wanted.

Still, there was something comforting in the thought that perhaps he and Rhianna were remarkably alike in some way. It was unnerving, but also agreeable to think maybe there was another person on this earth who thought the way he did. Who understood the way he felt about things.

"I wish there was a shooting star right now for me to wish upon," she said, laying all the way down on her back and looking up into the sky. "Do you know what I would wish for?"

"For Maric to come home."

"Exactly."

Of course he'd known what she would wish; it's what he would have wished as well.

"What happened to your grandmother?" she asked. "And your aunt and your uncles. Did you ever get to see any of them again?"

"No," Loghain replied. "After . . . my father and I left our farm, we went to Rainesfere, but my mother's family were all dead by then."

"Killed by the Orlesians?"

"No. Killed by the plague. It had swept through the village two years before we'd arrived."

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry to hear that. It must be hard for you, not having your family. I can't imagine what it would be like if anything happened to my parents, or to Fergus, or Oren." She paused. "You have Anora, though. And pretty soon Cailan will be your family, won't he? And, if you ever get very lonely, you could always pretend I'm your family, too. If you like. And Dane, as well."

She sat up, pulling the sleeping puppy into her arms and rubbing her cheek against the top of his head, not seeming to require a response. Just as well, as Loghain could think of no response to the words she had just spoken.

Family. He hardly deserved any such thing, and considered himself lucky to have Anora, and Maric, of course, who was like a brother. And he had thought of Cailan as family the boy's entire life. He didn't dare hope for anyone else, although the thought of Rhianna being part of his family was appealing. Not that he had any notion of just how she would fit in. But the idea of continuing to have her company on into the future, of her conversation and her laughter . . . He liked that idea. Rather a lot, in fact.

After a minute, she set Dane back onto the blanket to resume his nap, then looked up at Loghain. "What was her name?" Loghain's confusion must have shown on his face, because she quickly added, "Your mother, I mean. What was her name?"

"Oh. Her name was Aoife."

"Eee-fah," Rhianna repeated. "That's a lovely name. What does it mean?"

"Radiant and beautiful."

"It must have suited her, then," Rhianna said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

Loghain merely nodded. Yes, the name had suited his mother.

After a moment, Rhianna took a deep breath and made good on her end of the bargain.

_Oh, bonny Alamar, I'm sorry to see  
__Such a woeful destruction of your ornament tree.  
__For it stood on your shore for many's the long day,  
__'Till the longboats from Kirkwall came to float it away._

_Oh, bonny Alamar, you shine where you stand,  
__And the more I think on you, the more I think long.  
__If I had you now as I had once before,  
__All the lords in Ferelden would not purchase Alamar._

_All the birds in the forest, they bitterly weep,  
__Saying where shall we shelter, where shall we sleep?  
__For the oak and the ash they are all cutten down.  
__And the walls built by Hafter are all down to the ground._

_Oh, bonny Alamar, you shine where you stand,  
__And the more I think on you, the more I think long.  
__If I had you now as I had once before,  
__All the lords in Ferelden would not purchase Alamar*_

•o•

* "Bonny Alamar" is a slight reworking of the traditional Irish folk song, "Bonny Portmore," which laments the destruction of Ireland's old oak forests. My favorite professionally recorded version is sung by Loreena McKennitt. However, if you would like to hear Rhianna (aka me) singing "Bonny Alamar," just follow the "Extras" link on my profile to my master list of Dragon Age songs.

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_Note: As always, a big thank you to Xogs, for the beta. I also wish to thank Sandetiger, for loads and loads of invaluable information about horses, and help making the scene with Faolan more realistic. And of course, thanks to all my reviewers: Morninglight, WardenVaer, Arsinoe de Blassenville, milly-finalfantasy, Psyche-Sinclair, Murdelizer, and a Guest._


	28. A favor to ask

_**6 Harvestmere, 9:25 Dragon  
**__**Gwaren Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

Anora stood near the hearth in one of the Gwaren estate's small sitting rooms, her eyes glancing over the titles of the books on the shelf nearby. This room was a favorite of hers, with its view of the gardens from both windows, and its smells of rich leather, and parchment, and smoke from the fire burning in the hearth. Her father used it as an office, and everywhere were signs of him: a cloak on the hook, maps on the walls and unfurled on the desk, a pair of boots in the corner. The room even smelled like him, a bit. Anora often sat in here to read, and as a result, the bookshelf held most of her favorite books. Books she supposed she would be taking with her to the palace almost exactly a month from now.

Moving to the palace. It was strange, and sad, and vaguely alarming, the idea that soon she would move into the palace. Gwaren House had been her home for so many years, since her mother died, and to some extent even before that, and she would miss it.

She ran her finger along the spines of the books, noticing one of them was out of place. She pulled out the single volume - "Tales of the Destruction of Thedas," by Brother Genitivi, Chantry scholar - and then slipped it back into its proper place beside "The Sermons of Divine Renata I."

There. That was better.

With a sigh, she glanced around. Yes, she would miss this room, with its somewhat threadbare rug her father could never be bothered to replace. Perhaps she would buy a new one herself, as a gift for him.

She would miss the gardens, with their flowerbeds and rose bushes. Bushes her mother had planted even before Anora was born.

She would miss the warm scents of the kitchen, and the sounds of Uthalas humming to himself when he thought no one could hear.

She would miss her own bedroom, the way the light filtered through the curtains in the afternoon, illuminating her things in such a familiar pattern. Even though she would take her possessions with her, never again would the light hit them in quite the same way. And the bed she would sleep in would no longer be hers alone, but one she shared with her husband (another thought that was somewhat alarming).

It occurred to her that most of all she would miss her father.

Well, no. That was ridiculous. She wasn't leaving her father, not really. The palace was just a few minutes' walk away, and surely she'd see him nearly as often as before. Well, once he returned from this trip to find Maric, anyway, however long that would take.

In truth, she didn't want him to go. It scared her, and seemed pointless, but she knew her father had not yet given up hope of finding Maric, of bringing him home. She, however, was almost afraid to believe such a thing possible. Wouldn't it hurt even more to hold onto that hope, only to have it dashed to pieces when Maric couldn't be found?

She pulled out another volume, hoping to distract herself from these thoughts. "Dane and the Werewolf." This one had been a favorite story when she was very young, before she realized there was truth in the tale, that werewolves were real. Strangely enough, it now seemed a ridiculous story: wolves and humans making a bargain to switch places? It seemed so unlikely, but werewolves were real, and she certainly didn't have any better explanation for how they might have come into being. She shuddered at the memory of the way the creatures had looked on that night in Highever. When Rhianna Cousland had been bitten, and for those few, horrible hours, everyone feared the girl would turn into a werewolf herself. That had been truly frightening.

Anora slipped the book back onto the shelf, annoyed. Why was she tormenting herself with so many gloomy thoughts?

"Lady Anora, your visitor is here," Uthalas said from the doorway. "Lady Rhianna Cousland. And Master Dane."

As if thinking about the girl had summoned her.

Glad for the distraction, Anora allowed thoughts of Maric and werewolves and moving to the palace to slip away as Rhianna and the puppy were shown in.

Anora had always liked the little Cousland girl. Although, as Rhianna came through the doorway, with a slightly nervous smile on her face, it was clear thinking of her as "the little Cousland girl" was no longer accurate. She wasn't little anymore; she was growing up to be a lovely young woman.

"Hello, Rhianna." Anora gestured to the sofa, indicating that they should sit. The two girls were far enough apart in age they had never spent much time together, and even though Anora had invited Rhianna here to ask something specific, she hoped they could use this opportunity to get to know one another a bit better. Father was fond of the girl, and Rhianna's friendliness and ready smiles had always seemed sincere, not forced just for politeness, so Anora hoped this would be a pleasant afternoon. "I'm so glad you agreed to come visit with me today."

"Thank you for the invitation. I'm glad to be here."

After offering Rhianna something to drink, and setting down a bowl of water for the puppy, whose name was, curiously enough, Dane, Anora sat beside the other girl on the sofa, while they waited for lunch to be served.

"Is your father at home?" Rhianna asked politely, as they played with the puppy, who happened to be quite adorable.

"Yes." Her father said Rhianna was likely to ask after him. "He's going to join us after lunch. I have a feeling he won't be able to stay away once dessert has been served."

Rhianna giggled. "That's hardly a surprise. He once tried to convince me we should lock King Maric away in a dungeon, just so your father could have the king's share of the tarts Nan packed for our lunch." Rhianna grinned, but then the smile left her face, and she looked a bit . . . lost.

"Rhianna? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course." A cheerful smile returned to the girl's face, but Anora could sense this time, it wasn't quite genuine. "I was just . . . well, sometimes it makes me a bit sad to think about the king. King Maric, I mean. I . . . miss him."

Of course. Rhianna and the king had been close. In truth, Anora had been trying to avoid thinking about Maric, because it hurt so much. He had been like a second father to her; she could not really remember a time when Maric had not been part of her life, and she missed him terribly. She missed his laughter, and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed, and the way he had never failed to smile at her, not even once. She missed the way he had of making her believe that everything would be all right, no matter how dismal it seemed at the moment. And with Maric gone, the world did seem dismal. Darker. More frightening. And she worried about her father. He and Maric had been so close, for so many years, Anora was worried about Father's ability to cope now that Maric was gone.

"Yes," Anora agreed. "I miss him, too. Every day." This, however, hardly seemed a cheerful topic of conversation, so Anora asked, "So, how have you been enjoying your time in Denerim?"

"In Denerim?" The younger girl shrugged. "It's all right, mostly. I would rather be in Highever, and I don't much like going to salons. But it's all right. Especially now your father is back. I like riding with him, and he's promised we can train together sometimes."

"Train together? Oh, you mean training at arms?"

"Yes. I always learn new things from him, even if he does hit me harder than anyone else. Well, probably I learn more _because_ he hits me harder. It gives me more incentive to learn faster, if you know what I mean."

Anora chuckled. She did, indeed, know what Rhianna meant. Not that her father had ever hit her, not even during weapons practice, as far as she could remember. But he was fond of drilling lessons in such a way they would stick. Anora always appreciated the way her father had never treated her like a child. Apparently, he was that way with Rhianna, as well.

"I understand you went looking for sea lions yesterday? Did you have any luck?"

"No, we didn't find any sea lions, but it was a lovely day, anyway. It had been so long since I'd been out of the city, and your father let me borrow the most wonderful horse. We rode all along the cliffs, and sat on the beach, and Teyrn Loghain told me a story about his mother. Your grandmother," Rhianna added, as though the connection had just popped into her head.

"A story about my grandmother? What sort of story?"

"About one evening when your father was small, and she'd gotten him up out of bed in the middle of the night to look at shooting stars."

"Shooting stars?" Anora frowned. She was certain she had never heard a story like that before.

"Yes," Rhianna confirmed. "Did you know that when you see one, you're supposed to make a wish? And then the wish is supposed to come true, although it sounds like that doesn't always happen. I can't recall ever seeing one myself, though. A shooting star, I mean. Even all the nights Fergus and I spent camping. I guess we didn't spend enough time looking up at the sky."

"I had heard that about wishes, but I can't recall ever seeing a shooting star, either," Anora admitted.

Nor could she recall her father telling a story about his mother. She knew her grandmother had been killed - murdered violently - by chevaliers during the Occupation, but that was as much as anyone had ever said. Once she'd learned it was not a happy subject, she'd never again asked any questions.

"How did it come up? The subject of my grandmother, I mean."

"We were on the beach after eating lunch, and I thought your father was asleep, and I sort of . . . well, I started singing a song." She rolled her eyes, as if it were obvious her singing was not anything worth hearing. "I don't usually sing in front of other people, but, like I said, I thought he was asleep. Only he wasn't, and it turns out the song was one he knew, too. One your grandmother used to sing. So, I asked him for a story about her, and he told me about the shooting stars."

Anora felt her stomach twist into knots. Why had she never thought to ask for stories? She'd always contented herself with books, because her father never seemed the type who would want to tell stories. Hadn't he wanted to forget the past, and not dwell on memories of his parents, or things that happened during the Occupation? So many things had been shrouded in darkness, subject her parents had skirted around, with a shake of the head or a meaningful glance. So Anora had never asked, thinking it better to respect his privacy. But if he'd been willing to open up to Rhianna, surely he'd want to share those things with his own daughter as well.

"I'll have to ask him about it sometime," she mused aloud. "Ask him about my grandmother and my grandfather, both."

Yes. She would do it that evening, in fact. Perhaps it wasn't too late to get to know her father better, after so many years of believing he didn't want to be known.

"You should definitely ask," Rhianna agreed. "Teyrn Loghain loves telling stories."

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, a hearty meal of pasties and roasted chicken.

"This is all so delicious," Rhianna commented halfway through the meal. "Not like some of the strange things served at the coronation yesterday." Rhianna bit her lip for a moment, as a crease formed in her forehead. "I'm not saying I didn't like that food. It was all very good, too, with its Orlesian sauces and exotic fruits. But I really do like this sort of food - everyday food - the best. Pasties, especially. They're my very favorite."

"This is my favorite sort of food, too," Anora admitted. The sort of admission, at one point in her life, she would never have made, knowing it would have earned mocking from the other children, and sneering, knowing looks between any adults present. Anora the commoner, with her common tastes. That was one difference between herself and Rhianna. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland's daughter would never be accused of being common.

"So," Anora began, "There is a reason I asked you here today. Not just so we could have lunch together, although I am very glad to have this chance to get to know you better."

"I know," Rhianna replied. "Your father told me you had a special reason for inviting me."

Her father had said _what_? He had told Rhianna, after Anora specifically asked him not to? She struggled to keep her smile from faltering, her breathing from coming faster. Struggled to hide the discomfort she felt at Rhianna's words.

"Don't worry, though," the younger girl continued, apparently oblivious to Anora's reaction. "He only told me you had something to ask. He refused to tell me what it was. Just that it was a secret. A good secret. One you wanted to tell me yourself."

Anora let out the breath she had been holding, forcing herself not to sigh audibly. He hadn't broken his promise, after all.

Good. That was good.

Although, really, would it had mattered if he had told Rhianna the purpose of this visit? What a stupid thing to get hurt feelings about.

Still, her father wasn't in the habit of breaking promises. It was a relief he hadn't started now.

"A good secret? That's what he said?"

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "It was a bit horrid of him to gloat about knowing it, but I suppose I can forgive him, since I only had to wait one day to find out. Assuming you're going to tell me now, that is."

"Yes," Anora chuckled. "I had thought to tell you right now, in fact. As you know, in just a few weeks, Cailan and I are going to be married."

"Are you very excited?" Rhianna asked.

"Yes. I suppose I am," she admitted. She had been in love with Cailan as long as she could remember, and knew he loved her as well. As much as she wished this wasn't happening now, for the reason it was happening - she had loved Maric nearly as much as she loved her own father - she was happy to be marrying the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life.

"And," Anora continued, "I have a favor to ask of you. I need someone to be my witness at the ceremony. I'm sure you know it's usually someone related by blood to either the bride or the groom. And I don't have any family left at all, other than my father. But you and Cailan are cousins, a bit distant, but cousins nonetheless. So, I was hoping you would be willing to stand up with me during the ceremony. To be my witness."

Rhianna's eyes grew wide. "Oh. That's . . . that's a great honor, especially since you're going to be the queen. But I've never been a witness before. I thought it was always grown-ups who did that, not thirteen-year-old girls. Aren't you afraid I might make a mistake? Do something stupid, and ruin everything?"

Anora laughed. "Of course I'm not worried you might make a mistake! Rhianna, I've known you for years, and I know you'll be perfect. And even if I weren't sure, my father spoke very highly of your ability to perform whatever duties are required. All you need to do is walk up the aisle with me, and stand beside me during the ceremony holding my flowers. Afterwards, you'll sign your name on the official parchment. That's all there is to it. So . . . will you do it?"

"Yes, of course. As long as you're sure you trust me, then yes. I'd be honored to be your witness at the wedding." The girl smiled shyly, as though she still couldn't quite believe she's been asked to do this.

"Thank you. I know you'll be perfect, and I'll be so happy to have you there with me. And I think it will be fun for you as well. You'll be escorted by Teagan Guerrin, as he'll be standing up with Cailan, and at the banquet afterwards, you'll sit at the King's table, with Cailan and I and Bann Teagan. And my father, of course."

Was it her imagination, or did Rhianna's eyes grow a bit wider, and brighter, at the mention of sitting with Anora's father?

"I'd like that." Rhianna smiled more broadly now, looking more sure of herself. "Thank you, My Lady. I really am honored to have been asked. And I'll do my best, I promise."

"I know you will. And I'm so glad you said yes."

They'd finished with their meal, so Anora crossed the room and rang the bell for one of the servants to clear away the dishes. "Before we sit down to dessert, I have some things to give you," Anora said, gesturing for Rhianna to come and sit on the sofa near the fire.

"Things to give me?" The girl sounded genuinely surprised.

"Of course! If you're to be in the wedding, you'll have to have a new dress." Anora handed the girl a package wrapped in parchment.

Rhianna unwrapped it carefully, finding inside a gown of sapphire-colored satin, the same color as Anora's own gown would be. The girl stood, holding up in front of her.

"Oh," she breathed, "It's beautiful!" The gown was simple but pretty, with a rounded neckline and long, flared sleeves slit to just above the elbows.

"You can try it on, if you like," Anora suggested, "but honestly, it looks as though it will be exactly the right size." Strangely enough, Anora's father had been the one to provide measurements for the tailor. Apparently, he kept track of such things in order to make sure Rhianna always had leather armor that fit her properly.

"I heard a rumor dessert would be served soon." A deep voice echoed through the room, and both young women turned to the doorway.

"Teyrn Loghain!" Rhianna's voice was bright and cheerful. "Anora said you wouldn't be able to stay away from dessert."

"Yes, well, you know how fond I am of sweets."

"In that case, I'm afraid," Anora teased, "you've come too early. Dessert hasn't been served yet. So, perhaps you should come back later."

Loghain crossed the room and sat in a chair near the window. Before he'd barely settled into the chair, Rhianna's puppy hurried over to greet him. Dane put his front paws on Loghain's leg, and the man rubbed his fingers into the loose skin at the back of the dog's neck.

"Come back later? No, that doesn't sound good at all."

"So, you're not really here for the sweets then, are you?" Rhianna's smile was mischievous.

"Of course I am. Why else would I have come?"

"To see me and Lady Anora, of course."

"Hardly." His voice was stern. "Perhaps I'm not entirely interested in sweets, but don't go getting ideas I'm here to spend the afternoon with my two favorite girls. Let's make one thing very clear: I'm only here on behalf of this handsome fellow." He nodded at the puppy.

"Oh, really?" Rhianna asked. "You're here because of Dane?"

"Yes. I can see you've been spoiling him atrociously, encouraging all manner of bad behavior. Probably giving him endless treats. So, I thought I would give him some guidance in how to be a properly behaved hound."

Before anyone else could speak, the puppy huffed at Loghain.

"What's this?" Loghain asked, looking down at the dog.

"Haruph!" Dane repeated, his little hindquarters shivering with excitement.

"Dane seems to think you have cheese in your pocket," Rhianna said.

"See what I mean? Already begging for treats. I don't know where he would have gotten any idea about cheese."

The dog huffed again, and then whimpered softly.

"Perhaps because you do have cheese in your pocket," Rhianna replied.

"Well, perhaps I do," Loghain confirmed. "But I hardly see how that matters. Can't a man carry a snack for later, without being harassed?"

Dane whined, a rather pitiful sound, and laid his head on the front paws that still clung to Loghain's leg.

"Indeed," Loghain said. Then, he gave the dog a rather fearsome look, with his eyes narrowed and one of his brows lifted high.

Immediately, the dog removed his paws from Loghain's leg, setting himself back on his haunches, very straight and perfectly still, except for the little stub of a tail that wagged enthusiastically.

Loghain winked - at the dog! Of all things! - then reached a hand into the pocket of his trousers. Sure enough, there was a small hunk of cheese.

"You'd really take this from me? At the risk I might go hungry myself, later?"

"Haruph!" Dane yipped.

Finally, a smile appeared at one corner of Loghain's mouth. "Oh, all right." Loghain tossed the bit of cheese into the air, and the puppy leapt up, catching it in his teeth. Dane began to walk away, but Rhianna stopped him.

"Dane! Manners," she said.

The dog turned, dropped the cheese on the floor, and gave another enthusiastic "Haruph!" at Loghain.

"You're welcome."

The puppy retrieved the cheese, and moved to a sunny spot beneath the window to enjoy his treat.

"Endless treats, indeed," Rhianna teased. "And when he starts begging from everyone else, I'm going to tell them it's your fault, Teyrn Loghain."

"My fault? You saw him. He was shameless."

Dane stopped chewing long enough to huff unhappily from his place by the window.

"Indeed," Rhianna said simply, in a rather spot-on imitation of the teyrn. Then, they both burst out laughing.

"You're so silly," Rhianna told him, but before he could respond, she stood, holding the blue dress up for him to see. "Look! What do you think of my new dress? It's the one I'll wear to the wedding. Which you probably already knew, since that was the secret Anora just told me. That she wants me to be her witness."

"I think it's lovely. And I have no doubt on that day, you will be the prettiest girl but one in all of Ferelden."

Anora heard a quick intake of breath as Rhianna's lips parted slightly, and her cheeks turned pink. An interesting response, but before Anora had time to ponder it further, Rhianna looked over at her, and the younger girl grinned. Then Father turned to look at Anora, as well.

With a start, it dawned on her if Rhianna was the prettiest girl "but one," then Father had meant Anora, herself, would be the prettiest. She felt her cheeks grow hot, as she, too, began to blush, furiously, at the unexpected compliment. One of her hands flew to cover her cheek in embarrassment.

"I would be happy to be even half so pretty as you are," Rhianna said, her voice earnest. "At the coronation, you and Prince Cailan looked so lovely together. Perfect. Like a king and queen out of a storybook. I think all of Ferelden will fall in love with you once you're the queen, if they haven't already."

Looking into Rhianna's face, Anora could see the girl was utterly sincere. And what a generous thing it was for her to say. Especially considering, just a few days earlier, Rhianna's own father might have taken the throne.

Maker's blood. That was a sobering thought: had just one member of the Landsmeet voted differently, Bryce would be king now, and Rhianna would have been destined to be queen someday, rather than Anora.

Anora was glad she hadn't attended the Landsmeet that day. It hadn't seemed necessary. She'd heard not even a whisper that anyone might challenge Cailan for the throne. Then, when she heard about it afterwards, she was horrified. Not so much that it happened, but that she'd never before considered the possibility.

Now, looking back, it seemed incredibly naive. Of course it was possible someone else might want the throne. Anora knew as well as anyone Cailan was ill-prepared to rule. Of course he loved Ferelden, and had the nation's best interests at heart, but there was something very . . . young about him. He would learn. Certainly. But in the meantime, he would need help. As would she.

Honestly, the idea of becoming queen, now, was overwhelming. It shouldn't be. Throughout the whole of her life, as far back as she could remember, this was what had been planned for her. And it was what she wanted, truly. She loved Cailan, and wanted to be his wife. And she loved Ferelden, and wanted to be her queen. She had just never expected it to happen so suddenly.

Had Bryce taken the throne, what on earth would Anora have done? Surely, she and Cailan would have still been wed. (Wouldn't they)? Her father had no other heir, so she supposed they could have returned to Gwaren, although that was something she had never seriously considered. Not that she didn't love her birthplace; she loved it dearly. But in her mind, it sat at a distance. The idea of returning, of staying there permanently, was unsettling. Denerim was her home, and for most of the years of her life, she'd never considered any future in which she wasn't Ferelden's queen.

But there was no point dwelling on these thoughts. The Landsmeet had confirmed Cailan, and Rhianna was clearly not resentful or bitter, but genuinely pleased about Anora becoming the queen.

"Thank you," Anora said, remembering Rhianna had paid her a lovely set of compliments. "It means a lot to hear that from you. And I suppose I could call for dessert to be brought in, but first, I do have one more thing to give you."

"Something else? But you gave me a whole dress already."

"Don't let her fool you, Anora," Loghain interrupted. "Rhianna loves getting presents. She's even more shameless than her hound."

That seemed rather a harsh thing to say, but Rhianna giggled, "Of course I love presents. Doesn't everyone love getting presents?"

"Perhaps, but I'm not sure anyone loves getting them as much as you do." His tone was stern, but there was a spark of merriment in his eyes. Their banter was reminiscent of the way Father had been with Maric. Gentle, good-natured teasing. She hadn't realized just how comfortable Rhianna and her father had become. It was . . . sweet, actually. And nice to see her father smiling so much. Especially now. He'd smiled hardly at all since they'd gotten word about Maric's ship.

"Perhaps," Rhianna said airily. Then she turned to Anora, "But honestly, even if I do like presents, I never expect them. Especially since you've already given me such a lovely dress."

Anora chuckled. "Well, I do have something else for you, but to be honest, it's not . . . well, I wouldn't get too excited about it, if I were you. Um . . . here." Anora handed Rhianna a small wooden box, about six inches wide in all directions.

Biting her lower lip, the younger girl carefully pried off the lid. Then, she pulled out the object inside, which was wrapped in layers of fabric. Rhianna unwrapped it, slowly, carefully, until she held the object in her hands. Cradling it in her palms, her brow wrinkled for a moment, but then she turned to Anora with a bright smile on her face.

"It's . . . well, it's . . . pretty. Whatever it is. I have to admit, though, I'm not really sure just . . . what it is. Although those figures inside look like you and Cailan." She chewed at her lower lip, as though uncertain what else to say. Anora glanced at her father, who was trying hard not to laugh.

The object in Rhianna's hands was a sphere made of clear glass mounted on a wooden stand, with figurines that were indeed meant to look like Cailan and Anora, along with a tiny replica of the Denerim palace. It was filled with water, and with tiny bits of white porcelain.

"It's called a snow globe," Anora explained. "If you shake it . . . well, just shake it and watch what happens."

Her brow still wrinkled, Rhianna nodded, and, holding the globe between her two hands, agitated it gently. The bits of porcelain at the bottom swished back and forth in the turbulence, causing bubbles to float to the surface, but nothing more.

"Try turning it all the way upside down, and then righting it again," Loghain suggested.

Rhianna did so, and finally a smile broke out across her face. "Oh, it looks like it's snowing inside. That's lovely. Is that . . . um . . . is that all it does?"

Anora chuckled. "Yes. I'm afraid so. It's not perhaps the most useful thing ever. It was Cailan's idea to have them made. He saw one that came from the Anderfels, with a griffon inside of it, and thought we should have our own made to commemorate the wedding. I . . . well, I hope you like it. Even if it doesn't do much but sit on the shelf."

"I do like it. And it's nice it has you and Cailan inside. Strange, but nice."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it," Anora said. "Especially since my father was very skeptical about the whole thing."

"Skeptical?" Loghain scoffed. "That's putting it mildly. They really aren't very practical."

"No," Rhianna said thoughtfully, "but perhaps it's nice sometimes for things to be impractical. For things to just be . . . decorative. Like jewelry. That's pretty and doesn't really have any other use, but we like it anyway. Does everything have to be useful?"

Anora watched her father's reaction. For a moment, he frowned, a deep furrow forming in his brow, and one of his eyebrows lifted in that inimitable way of his. But then, surprisingly, one corner of his mouth twitched. "Well, obviously not. Else what would be the explanation for you?"

Rhianna burst into laughter. "What are you on about? I'm incredibly useful and you know it. I can do lots of things."

"Is that so?" he asked. "Name one."

"One? I'll give you several. Let's see . . ." She cocked her head to one side, and looked up at the ceiling as though she were thinking hard. "Well, I can stand next to doors and hold them open, so you don't need a doorstop. I can look out the window and tell you what the weather is like. And I can definitely manage to eat your share of the sweets that might appear for dessert, and save you the trouble of eating them yourself. Since you claim to have come here on Dane's behalf, rather than for dessert. See? I'm amazingly useful. Far more useful than you are."

"More useful than I am?"

"Oh yes. I'm feeling quite certain of it." Rhianna turned to Anora. "So, what do you think? Which of us is more useful: me or your father?"

The girl could hardly contain the mischief in her grin, and again, Anora was reminded of the way Maric and her father had teased one another. There seemed to be little harm in playing along.

"Well, you put me in rather awkward predicament," Anora began. "I mean, you are going to be doing an important service for me, standing up at my wedding." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "But he is my father. I really ought to be nice to him. He might throw me out of his house otherwise."

"Oh, but you're going to be the queen," Rhianna insisted, also in a whisper. "Surely he wouldn't dare doing anything like that. Not when you'll soon be able to have him locked away in Fort Drakon if he misbehaves."

"What are the two of you whispering about?" Loghain asked, although their whispers had been plenty loud enough for him to hear. "I'm not sure I like where this conversation is headed."

"Then just admit it!" Rhianna urged. "I'm the most useful. You know it's true. I mean, really, what have you ever done anyway? Besides drive the Orlesians out of Ferelden. And try and spoil my puppy."

"Haruph!" The puppy's indignant bark echoed through the room, causing all the humans to turn and look.

"Well," Loghain rebutted, with a straight face. "It seems I have Dane's vote."

"True," Rhianna admitted. "He does think you are extraordinarily useful. Especially when you come bearing cheese."

At this, Rhianna and Loghain both burst into laughter, while Dane got up and bounced around excitedly. Anora smiled to herself at the sight of it. Yes, her father and Rhianna certainly did seem to get along very well together.

The next moment, however, any further discussion was interrupted by the servants, who came bearing dessert.

"Ah. Finally!" Loghain said, pushing himself up to his feet. "And don't think you're going to eat my share of the sweets, young lady," he glowered at Rhianna. "I might not have been telling the whole truth when I said I wasn't interested in dessert."

•o•

•

•o•

•

•o•

_Note: Strange as it may seem, the presence of snow globes in Ferelden is canon from one of the games. It seemed such a ridiculous thing to include in the game that I couldn't resist putting one of them in my story, as well. _

_Thank-you so much to all my wonderful reviewers: __DutchNight, Doom-N-GloomGal, Searena, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Psyche-Sinclair, milly-finalfantasy, WardenVaer, Murdelizer, and Mialiah._


	29. Side by side, hand in hand

**_7 Firstfall, 9:25 Dragon  
Denerim Chantry_**

•o•

Teagan Guerrin, the Bann of Rainesfere, was rather handsome.

Rhianna decided this as they stood together near the door of the small house beside the Denerim Chantry, waiting for Anora to emerge from the back room, where her lady-in-waiting was helping her prepare for the wedding. Rhianna couldn't remember ever speaking to him before today, but something about him reminded her of her father, with his auburn hair and his closely trimmed beard and his ready smile.

Nearby, Cailan stood by the window, looking out at the crowd in the courtyard outside. He seemed not to be paying any attention to Rhianna and Teagan's conversation.

"So," Bann Teagan said, with a rather mischievous grin, "if I may be so bold, what of you, my lady? Are you married?"

"Me? Married? Of course not."

Bann Teagan raised a brow. "I find that hard to believe. Surely, that's a crime somewhere. I would have thought a girl as pretty as you would have a husband or two of your own by now. Maybe even three."

Rhianna snorted, giggling into one of her hands. "I'm not old enough to have even one husband," she exclaimed, "and I certainly don't know what I'd do with three of them."

Saying she wasn't old enough wasn't entirely accurate; Alysanne Valdric's marriage to Bann Krole was just two short months away, right after the girl's fourteenth birthday. Even so, Rhianna didn't expect she would be getting married anytime soon. And certainly not to two - or Maker forbid three - different men.

"What about you?" she asked. "Are you married?"

"Me? No, I've never had the pleasure. If I were to marry, however, I'd be lucky to find a woman as lovely as yourself."

What? Was he serious? "You wouldn't really want to marry me, would you?"

"Is that a proposal, milady? You'd better be careful. If you were to ask me to marry you just now, it's possible I might say yes. Perhaps we could persuade the Grand Cleric to perform the ceremony after Anora and Cailan's."

Rhianna felt her face grow hot. He couldn't possibly be serious.

"You're teasing me, aren't you?" she asked.

"Teasing? What makes you say that? You are lovely. Surely, I'm not the first person to say so."

She felt her jaw drop, slightly, and for a moment she really wasn't sure what to say. Then, Bann Teagan winked at her.

"You are teasing." She giggled, but before he could say anything in response, the door to the back room opened, and Anora walked out, her elven maid a few steps behind.

Anora was absolutely gorgeous. She wore a gown of deep, sapphire blue satin. Tiny pearls were sewn into the fabric in an elaborate design, and a long train trailed behind. Flowers had been braided into her hair, and she wore just the tiniest bit of paint on her lips and her cheeks. Her face seemed to glow, but Rhianna wasn't sure if it was from the paint, or if Anora looked so happy because she was about to marry the man she loved.

At her entrance, Cailan turned from the window.

"Maker's breath." His mouth hung open for a moment before he spoke again. "I have never seen anyone more beautiful than you, my love."

Anora smiled, and her cheeks turned slightly pink, as she stepped forward to take the arm Cailan was offering. The King looked beautiful, too, in his golden armor, his blond hair shining, the crown upon his head.

The maidservant rushed forward, bowing before she handed Anora a beautiful bouquet of flowers: white roses and lilies and baby's breath and irises and wisteria. "Can't forget these, My Lady," she murmured, before backing away.

Teagan moved to the door, opening it enough to signal Teyrn Loghain, who stood just outside, that they were ready to walk to the Chantry. A moment later, trumpets announced the ceremony was about to begin. Bann Teagan offered Rhianna his arm, and together they stepped out of the small house.

Rhianna wore the gown Anora had given her, the same shade of blue as Anora's own gown, and flowers had been woven into Rhianna's hair as well, in imitation of the bride. It was an ancient custom for the bride's witness to dress in this fashion, a custom designed to trick any demons who might be watching into thinking Rhianna was the bride, and thus performing their mischief on her, while guaranteeing a peaceful day for Anora herself.

As Rhianna and Bann Teagan started up the path toward the Chantry, she glanced at Teyrn Loghain, who was waiting outside. He nodded at her as she walked past, and she couldn't help but notice how handsome he looked. Handsomer, even, than Cailan. Handsomer than anyone she'd ever seen before. Loghain wore a crisp white shirt under a doublet of dark grey, with ruffles at the end of the sleeves, and jet black trousers. His boots had been polished so well they shone, and the expression on his face was almost a smile. He looked proud, perhaps even happy, to see his daughter wed to the king.

The courtyard in front of the Chantry was filled with people, as there were far too many to all fit inside of the building. A path had been made for the bridal procession, through the courtyard and into the Chantry doors which had been thrown wide open for the occasion. Inside, the pews were tightly packed, and musicians played a wedding march as Rhianna and Teagan entered the building and began to walk up the center aisle. A minute later, a ripple of whispered voices washed across the Chantry as Cailan and Anora entered, arm in arm.

When they reached the altar where Grand Cleric Elemena waited, Rhianna and Teagan separated, moving to opposite sides as the bride and groom approached and climbed the stairs. As Loghain moved to stand just beyond Teagan, Anora turned to Rhianna with a smile, and handed her the bouquet of flowers. Cradling them in her arms, Rhianna stepped back and stood perfectly still while the ceremony began.

The Grand Cleric raised her arms and began with a verse from the Chant of Light.

"_The children of the Maker gathered  
Before his golden throne  
And sang hymns of praise unending_.

"We gather here today in the eyes of the Maker to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. If any person can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Elemena allowed the silence to stretch out for half a minute, during which not so much as a whisper was heard in the Chantry.

Something tickled Rhianna's right arm. She twitched, once, trying to get it to stop, but it still felt as though something was crawling just inside her elbow, and upward onto her arm. An insect, probably, and she fought the urge to reach her hand under the flowers and brush it away. She didn't want the Grand Cleric to think she was making some sort of objection to the wedding.

Instead, she tried to reach out to it with her mind. Insects were never easy for her to read at the best of times, but this one was impossible; its mind was filled with confusion and pain and anger. A stab of pain exploded in the tender skin underneath her upper arm, and Rhianna fought back the gasp that came to her lips.

A bee. It was a bee, and it had stung her.

Blessed Andraste, that _hurt_. She'd never been stung by anything before, and it hurt. She forced herself to breathe slowly and to stay quiet and still as she tried to ignore the pain in her arm.

The Grand Cleric spoke once again.

"_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow.  
In their blood the Maker's will is written._

The woman turned her gaze upon the bridal couple. "I require and charge you both that if either of you know any impediment why you may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, you confess it now."

Anora and Cailan looked at one another solemnly, then turned back to the Grand Cleric. Both of them shook their heads. Of course there was no reason why they should not be married.

Again, Rhianna felt something crawling just inside her elbow. Another bee? Why were there bees in these flowers? And why were they crawling on her, instead of just flying away? She felt another, and then another, and another. Sending her mind toward them, she realized there were at least a score of them inside the bouquet. They seemed frantic, their minds closed to her, as they were drawn toward the warmth of her skin, where they became even more active, more agitated. Another burst of pain in her arm, a few inches from the first. Then another. Oh, it hurt! Maker, why were they stinging her?

And there were so many of them. What if every single one of them stung her?

_"Here, I decree  
Opposition in all things:  
For earth, sky  
For winter, summer  
For darkness, light.  
By My Will alone is Balance sundered  
And the world given new life._

"As decreed by the Maker, the bond between a man and a woman is a joining of opposites, and from this joining shall come new life."

A fourth sting; Rhianna exhaled loudly through her nose, she couldn't stop herself. Teyrn Loghain glanced at her, frowning, and she forced herself to breath quietly. But the bees didn't stop. They continued crawling out of the flowers, onto her arms, more and more of them. Yet another sting, in the tender flesh on the underside of her upper arm. She squeezed her eyes closed, willing herself to be calm and still and quiet. The bees were just the opposite: she could sense their anger and their confusion and their pain, although she still had no idea why they were so angry.

"_Then the Voice of the Maker rang out,  
The first Word,  
And His Word became all that might be:  
Dream and idea, hope and fear,  
Endless possibilities._

"Cailan Rendorn Theirin," Elemena intoned, "wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will," Cailan replied.

Another burst of pain exploded in Rhianna's arm.

"Anora Aoife Mac Tir, wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto him, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will," Anora replied.

One of the bees had crawled almost to her hand, stinging into a vein on her wrist. Why? Why were they doing this? She tried to scream at them with her mind to stop, but that only seemed to agitate them more. And why were so many bees in the flowers in the first place?

Another stinger pierced her arm, and now she couldn't stop herself from breathing more quickly. Please. Please please please let the ceremony end now. Please let this end, so she could sign the paper, and Anora and Cailan could walk down the aisle, and she could run somewhere nobody would see her and get these bees off of her arm.

Another sting and her breath caught in her chest. She had to keep calm. She had to keep calm, and stay quiet. She mustn't do anything to ruin Cailan and Anora's wedding.

"Maker, bless these rings, that those who wear them, that give and receive them, may be ever faithful to one another, remain in Your peace, and live and grow old together in Your love, under their own vine and fig tree, and seeing their children's children prosper and thrive.

"Cailan, place this ring on Anora's finger, and speak your vows to her now."

Cailan took Anora's left hand, and slid a ring on her middle finger. Then, he looked into her eyes.

"I pledge my love to you, and everything that I own  
I promise you the first bite of my meat and the first sip from my cup.  
I pledge yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,  
And the eyes into which I smile each morning.  
I shall be a shield for your back as you are for mine.  
I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care.  
I promise to honor you above all others.  
Our love is never-ending and we will remain, forevermore, equals in our marriage.  
Thereto I plight thee my troth."

Rhianna closed her eyes. It was difficult to follow what was happening in the ceremony. One of the bees had crawled all the way up her sleeve, and was making its way down her chest. When its stinger sank into the flesh below her collarbone, she clenched her teeth to keep from crying out. Another crawled up the back of her neck, and stung just beneath her ear.

Then, another of the insects plunged its stinger into a place where she had already been stung. She squeezed her eyes shut, seeing a flash of blinding white light. The pain was so intense she bit the inside of her mouth to stifle her cry. Tasting blood, she felt a single, hot tear course down her face. Her breath was coming fast, and she couldn't stop her body from trembling, but she tried to stay quiet. When she opened her eyes, Loghain was staring at her, a deep frown on his face. Maker. She must look ridiculous, crying for no apparent reason.

The Grand Cleric continued. "Anora, place this ring on Cailan's finger, and speak your vows to him now."

As Cailan had done, Anora took his left hand in hers, and slipped a ring onto his finger. Her voice was clear and strong, carrying easily throughout the Chantry.

"I pledge my love to you, and everything that I own  
I promise you the first bite of my meat and the first sip from my cup.  
I pledge yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,  
And the eyes into which I smile each morning.  
I shall be a shield for your back as you are for mine.  
I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care.  
I promise to honor you above all others.  
Our love is never-ending and we will remain, forevermore, equals in our marriage.  
Thereto I plight thee my troth."

Finally, blessedly, the Grand Cleric bid the couple to kneel together on the altar. Twice more, Rhianna was stung.

"Cailan and Anora, here you kneel before me, in the sight of the Maker. From this day forward, your lives are intertwined. No longer shall you shall walk your paths alone, but you shall walk side by side, hand in hand.

"_My hearth is yours, my bread is yours, my life is yours.  
For all who walk in the sight of the Maker are one_.

"When you knelt before me, you were two separate people. Rise now, and greet the world as you shall live the rest of your lives, no longer separate, but joined as one." Cailan stood, and offered his hand to help Anora to her feet.

"Forasmuch as Cailan and Anora have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before the Maker and this company, and have pledged their troth to one another, I pronounce they are man and wife, in the name of the Maker."

The couple turned to face one another, and Cailan leaned down to kiss Anora on the lips for a brief moment. Then they turned to the back to the Chantry, and the people filling the hall began to cheer. Anora turned to Rhianna, frowning when she saw the girl's tearstained face. The new bride reached out her arms, for the flowers, but Rhianna could sense there were still bees in the arrangement. She couldn't give them to Anora, and risk her being stung. Not on her wedding day. Rhianna shook her head, just a little, and pulled back from Anora's outstretched hands. A look of confusion furrowed the woman's brow, and again she reached for the flowers, but Rhianna shook her head again, more vehemently this time, and turned her body slightly away so Anora could not reach the bouquet.

Cailan glanced over, his eyes widening at the sight of Rhianna's face, of the tear stain on her cheek. Gently grasping Anora's elbow, he urged her to walk with him. Anora's eyes flashed at Rhianna for a moment before turning to accompany her new husband through the crowd of cheering people.

Rhianna glanced at Loghain, and found him glaring at her with a look of pure anger she seen only a few times before, and certainly never directed at her. Her lower lip began to quiver, and another bee stung her, this time between her shoulder blades, but she forced herself to hold back more tears. In a haze, she walked toward the podium where the marriage certificate awaited her signature. Somehow, she managed to put the quill to the parchment and sign her name, and then she and Bann Teagan walked side by side down the aisle, with Loghain a few steps behind.

Finally, they reached the Chantry steps, where the King and his new bride stood at the edge and waved to the crowd of people who had not been able to fit into the Chantry. As soon as she crossed the threshold, Rhianna darted away to the left, not caring what anyone thought of her now, running past the well in the Chantry yard, and around to the alley which ran along the side of the building.

Thankfully, it was deserted.

She dropped the bouquet onto the ground, and frantically brushed the remaining insects off of her arm. She received another sting, finally allowing a sob to escape her throat from the pain. Her right arm was covered in large pink welts, some of them welts on top of welts.

She was dimly aware of a sound behind her, but before she could turn to see what had caused it, pain exploded through her arm, a pain so white and hot that it blinded her for a moment. Someone had grabbed her arm, the arm with the bee stings. She cried out as she was spun around to face whomever had hold of her.

When her vision cleared, she found Teyrn Loghain staring down at her, his eyes flashing. His hand tightened on her arm, pushing the stingers deeper in to her flesh, and once again, she screamed.

•o•o•o•o•o•

"Stop!" Rhianna screamed, tears streaming down her face. "Please, stop! It hurts!" she sobbed.

"What in the name of the Black City is wrong with you, girl?" he hissed. He grabbed her by both arms now, determined to get a straight answer out of her for her ridiculous behavior.

He shook her, and she cried out a third time, then began to moan, softly but continuously.

Maker's balls, what was this nonsense? He wasn't holding her tightly enough to cause pain. What on earth had gotten into the girl? She had been crying, during the ceremony, and refused to give Anora back the flowers. This is the last thing he ever would have expected from her, and he was deeply disappointed.

_Crying_. Was it possible she had some fantasy about marrying Cailan herself? She'd never said anything to indicate she had feelings for the boy, but Loghain could think of no other explanation for her bizarre behavior.

"Please, Teyrn Loghain," she sobbed through her tears. "Please let go of my arm. There were bees in the flowers and they stung me. They stung my arm." Another tear escaped one of her eyes, and ran slowly down her cheek. She looked down to the arm he was grasping in his hand. "P-please let go. It h-h-hurts." More tears began to fall, as her mouth twisted into a grimace.

Bees?

He released her arm, pulling up the loose half-sleeve that covered her forearm. Her pale flesh was covered with nearly a dozen angry red welts. He'd never seen anything like this, not in the whole of his life.

"Blessed Andraste!" He dropped to his knees before the girl, and looked into her eyes. They were a more brilliant green than he had ever seen them before, fat tears clinging to her eyelashes. "Rhianna." He took her face gently between his hands. "Oh, Rhianna I am so sorry. I . . . Maker's blood, I had no idea."

He fought back a wave of nausea. Those welts, they looked awful, painful. And then he'd grabbed her, that must have . . . he could hardly imagine just how much pain he had caused her.

What had possessed him to grab her arm like that? And how could he have been angry with her in the first place? He'd known the girl her entire life; he should have known better than to assume she was behaving badly. Shame, thick and hot, washed over him, and again he had to struggle to keep himself from being sick.

He sat down on the grass, pulling her into his lap, cradling her, with her back against his chest. With the dagger he pulled from his boot, a new dagger to replace the one he'd given her after the Festival of Wolves, he prepared to remove the stingers. He pulled back the sleeve, tucking the fabric behind her shoulder so he could see the whole of her arm.

"This will hurt," he warned, "but they've got to come out. I'll do it as quickly as I can and then we'll find the healer."

"All right," she breathed.

One by one, he slid the edge of his blade underneath the ridge of the stingers, and with a flick of his wrist, popped them out of her skin. Rhianna moaned softly each time one was removed, but she sat still in his lap, allowing him to work quickly. When he had removed all of the ones he could see - a total of _thirteen_ stingers - he asked if there were any he had missed, and she pointed to one between her shoulders, and another just below her collarbone. Loghain undid the top few buttons on her gown, pushing back the fabric just enough to remove those stings as he'd done the others.

When he had finished, she turned her body toward his, pressing her face against his chest. He held her, stroking her hair while she sobbed quietly. So many bee stings, some of them right on top of one another. That must have been incredibly painful, and he doubted the pain had yet subsided. Jocelyn would help, perhaps even just a poultice would be enough to heal the small wounds, but first he'd give Rhianna as long as she needed to get out her tears.

She sat up, and reached up her hand to touch a spot on her neck. "There's one more," she whispered.

Taking his dagger in hand again, Loghain turned her head to face away from him, exposing the bee sting on her neck. Just as he slipped the tip of the dagger under the stinger's head, a voice boomed from the entrance to the alley.

"Take your hands off my daughter!"

Loghain and Rhianna both turned to see Bryce Cousland running toward them, his face twisted in anger. Before either of them could respond, Bryce grabbed Rhianna's arm, causing her to scream in pain. He ignored her cries, pulling her to her feet, and angling his body so he stood between her and Loghain. The look in Bryce's eyes was furious, and Loghain climbed to his feet, the dagger still clutched in his hand.

Maker's balls! How must this have looked to the girl's father? Rhianna, sitting in Loghain's lap with her dress undone, and his dagger at her throat. No wonder the man looked murderous. Loghain raised his arms gently away from his sides, in a gesture of surrender, although he kept hold of the dagger.

"Father, please!" Rhianna cried out, in tears.

Ignoring her, Bryce addressed Loghain. "You," he snarled. "Explain yourself, now. Before I kill you with my bare hands."

"Father, no. Stop it, please!" Rhianna pleaded, grabbing her father's arm. "I was stung by bees during the ceremony. Teyrn Loghain was removing the stingers."

Bryce turned to look at his daughter, her face stained with tears as she clung to his arm, as if wanting to prevent him from attacking. "Please Father, just look at my arm. Please."

Bryce shot Loghain a single angry glance, and then turned back to his daughter, watching as she pulled up the sleeve of her gown. The girl's father gasped aloud when he saw the angry welts, puffed up and red against the pale skin of her arm.

"Maker's blood," Bryce swore. "What's this? How on earth did this happen?"

Rhianna released her hold on her father's arm, sobbing with relief. "There were bees in the flowers. In Lady Anora's flowers." She turned to Loghain, "The last stinger. It burns. Will you get it out for me, please?"

Loghain rushed to her side, placing the dagger beside the stinger, and pulling it out of her skin. A single drop of blood oozed from the hole left behind.

Bryce stared at the drop of blood for a long moment, a look of horror on his face. "When did this happen?" he asked, his voice ragged.

"During the ceremony, mostly," she replied. She was calmer now, no longer crying. With any luck, that meant the pain had begun to subside. She gestured to the bouquet she'd thrown onto the ground. "I don't know how they got there, but for some reason they crawled on me instead of flying away. They were really scared, and angry, but I couldn't figure out why."

Loghain knelt beside the discarded bouquet and poked at the flowers with his dagger. Bryce and Rhianna both came to kneel beside him. He found one of the bees crawling up the stem of a rose, and he picked it up gently with the tip of his blade. Holding it at eye level, all three of them looked at it closely.

"Its wings have been pulled off." Loghain said, meeting Bryce's gaze. This had not been some kind of an accident. "That's why it didn't fly away."

"Do you mean someone put them there on purpose?" Rhianna asked, her voice shaky. "Someone who wanted to hurt Lady Anora, or ruin her wedding?"

"Yes." Or someone who knew Rhianna would be Anora's witness.

"Loghain," Bryce began, "Your daughter, and the king, they're looking for you. Well, they're looking for you and Rhianna both, really. They're ready to proceed to the palace for Anora's coronation and the oath taking ceremony." Glancing at Rhianna, he continued, "Loghain, you go with your daughter, tell them Rhianna won't be coming. I need to get her home, and have this seen to."

"No!" Rhianna shook her head. "We must all go. Father, you can't miss the coronation. If you aren't there to swear your fealty to the new queen, what will everyone think? Besides, if someone did this on purpose, they'll be looking to see if either Anora or I were hurt. If I don't attend the coronation, it'll be like she won, won't it? I don't want to give her the satisfaction."

"She?" her father asked.

"Habren Bryland. She did this. I'm sure of it. I can't think of anyone else mean enough to pull the wings off so many bees. And she hates Anora. She says bad things about her all the time, says she shouldn't be the queen, because she's a commoner." Rhianna glanced apologetically at Loghain. "I'm sorry. But I've heard her say it, many times. Teyrn Loghain, you should go with Anora now, but tell her Father and I will be along soon. If we can just find some healing salve, to make them stop burning so much, I'll be fine." She turned to her father. "I don't want to go home. Please."

The girl had a good point. If Habren - or whomever had done this - intended to sabotage the wedding, it would be best to make that person think she had not succeeded. She was also right about the coronation, especially after Bryce's recent attempt to claim the throne.

After a moment's hesitation, Bryce nodded. "All right, Rhianna. We'll go to the coronation." He turned, catching Loghain's gaze. "Loghain . . . I'm sorry. About the way I spoke to you just now. But when I came into the alley . . . " his voice trailed off.

"No apology is necessary," Loghain replied. "I can only imagine how dreadful that must have looked."

"Thank you." Bryce grasped Loghain's arm, briefly. With a nod, accepting his thanks, Loghain turned to leave the alley.

"Teyrn Loghain," Rhianna called out. "Please, don't tell Lady Anora about the bees. Or at least not how many there were."

"What? Why not?" Loghain asked. "She'll need to know about this."

"I know. But today is her wedding day. She shouldn't have it ruined by knowing someone tried to hurt her. Tell her tomorrow, instead? Just not today. Please?"

He inclined his head in submission. "As you wish."

Anora and Cailan stood at the edge of the Chantry courtyard. At his approach, Loghain saw anger flash in his daughter's eyes, and she looked behind him, as if expecting to see Rhianna, as well.

As they began the procession, walking slowly toward the palace so everyone could wave and greet the newly married couple, Anora looked straight ahead, a smile that looked genuine on her lips. Inclining her head slightly toward her father, she whispered, "Just what was all that about? Rhianna, refusing to give me the flowers? And where have you been all this time?" The smile never left her face, as she looked around, waving at the people who had come to wish the newlyweds well, but he could hear the annoyance in her voice.

"It's nothing to worry about. Somehow, a couple of bees were trapped in the bouquet. Rhianna was stung during the ceremony, but she didn't want to say anything and risk causing a scene. And she didn't want you to be stung, which is why she refused to give back the flowers."

For a moment, Anora's perfectly composed expression faltered. Her eyes grew wide, and her smile faded, and she turned her face completely toward him. "Rhianna was stung during the ceremony? By a bee? That must have hurt. She's all right now, yes?"

"She's all right. Bryce is seeing to her, and they'll be along as soon as they can find a poultice."

Anora nodded, and her confident smile returned, and she and Cailan - side by side, hand in hand - continued toward the Denerim Palace, where in a just a few minutes, she would be crowned Queen of Ferelden.

•o•

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_A big thank you to all my wonderful reviewers: Milly-finalfantasy, Doom-N-GloomGal, KrystylSky, Psyche Sinclair and Warden Vaer. And a super-duper big thank you to Psyche Sinclair, for the beta! _


	30. A dance with the daughter of a teyrn

_**7 Firstfall, 9:25 Dragon  
Denerim Palace**_

•o•

All over Denerim, people were celebrating the royal wedding. Revelers ran through the streets, drunk on wine provided by the king and his new queen. Lovers stole kisses from one another, not caring who might see. Children played games in the streets, shrieking with laughter and happy in the knowledge they would be allowed to stay up late. Gathered in small knots, or large, boisterous groups, the people of Denerim spoke of how beautiful the queen had looked, how regal Maric's son had grown up to be, and what a handsome couple the two had made. Hundreds of toasts were made to Good King Cailan and the Fair Queen Anora.

Inside the palace, the celebration was less boisterous, but far more opulent, as the nobles of Ferelden gathered for the magnificent wedding banquet. Loghain was seated at the King's Table, Rhianna to his left, and Anora on his right. Beyond Anora sat Cailan, and then Bann Teagan at the far end.

Loghain was concerned about the girl. She seemed in good enough spirits, and raised welts were no longer visible on her arms (although one red mark remained on her neck), but she had eaten hardly anything. Even now, she was pushing berries in syrup around on her plate, but he hadn't seen her bring even a single one to her lips. Her face was still pale, and he worried she might be having a reaction to having been stung so many times. He'd heard of people dying from bee stings, sometimes hours or even days after the fact, so, he was keeping a close eye on her.

When the first course of the feast ended, the majority of guests pushed themselves up from the tables to wander the great hall or the gardens. Servants cleared away this first round of dishes in preparation for the evening's entertainment, a variety of musicians and hired performers from across the continent. Later in the evening, there would also be dancing, after more courses of food.

Rhianna stood, stumbling, and catching herself on the back of her chair to keep from falling. A moan escaped her throat, and she put a hand on her stomach. Hurrying to his feet, Loghain took her arm, to steady her. alarmed by the sight of her face: all the color had drained, and her skin looked almost transparent.

"Rhianna, are you all right?"

"I don't feel well. I think I'm going to be sick."

Putting his arm around her shoulder, he shepherded her out the nearest door that led to the gardens. Before he could decide which way to turn, she darted forward, bending over a shrubbery to empty the contents of her stomach. He knelt at her side, pulling her hair back from her face as she finished heaving. A pair of wedding guests approaching on the path wrinkled their noses in disgust, and quickly turned to walk back in the other direction.

When she looked up at him, her face looked vaguely green, especially around the eyes, and she was breathing heavily through her mouth.

"Can you walk a little?" Loghain asked, wanting to get her to a place where she would have more privacy if she needed to be sick again. She nodded, and he led her down one of the garden's less-frequently traveled paths.

Before they'd gotten to the end of the walkway, Rhianna moaned softly, and pulled away from Loghain, putting a hand to her mouth. A tear squeezed from one of her eyes as she whimpered, "I'm going to be sick again." She turned away from him, bending over some flowers. Again, the teyrn pulled her hair back so it wasn't hanging in her face, and then held her gently, supporting her body at it was wracked with a spasm of vomiting. She heaved several times, violently, and finally was still, but she remained bent over, he entire body trembling with the exertion, sweat beading on the back of neck and between her shoulders.

"Rhianna," he whispered into her ear. "Do you want to sit down now?"

She shook her head, and another spasm wracked her body, as she threw up again. Only a thin trickle of bile came up this time, and afterwards, she stood up straight again. Tears streamed down her face, and she ran a hand across her forehead and down her cheek, looking miserable. He tried to put an arm around her shoulder, but she jerked away from him.

"Don't," she moaned. "Please don't. I smell disgusting, and I don't want you to get anything on your clothes."

He moved close again, slowly but determinedly. "Don't worry about my clothes, Rhianna." This time, she allowed his arm around her shoulder, and then let him lead her to a nearby bench.

As soon as she was seated, she began sobbing quietly.

"Rhianna, does your stomach still hurt?"

"No, not much anyway. I don't think I'm going to be sick anymore." She sniffled. "Is this because of the bee stings?"

"Yes, I'm sure it's from the stings. You were stung so many times, and we weren't able to remove them right away, so a good deal of venom made its way your body."

She nodded, then sobbed once. "I'm sorry." Her voice shook, and she looked up at him. "I didn't throw up . . . on you, did I?" Loghain glanced at his clothing, then inspected hers as well.

"No, you missed me entirely. Your aim must not be very good," he joked.

This got a small chuckle out of her. Her breath was still coming fast, but her face didn't look as sickly as it had a few minutes ago. Remarkably, she'd also managed to avoid getting vomit on her gown, except in a couple of very small spots. He walked to a nearby fountain and pulled out a handkerchief, dipping it into the water and squeezing it until it was only damp. Sitting back beside her, he lifted her chin, and then ran the cool cloth across her sweaty forehead. She closed her eyes, and made a soft sound of pleasure in her throat. Loghain ran the damp cloth down her nose and across her cheeks, then her chin, and finally, very gently across her lips. When he was finished, she leaned against the back of the bench, keeping her eyes closed.

Loghain returned to the fountain, rinsing out the towel and returning to her side. He rubbed at the two small spots of sick on her dress, and wiped some vomit from a strand of her hair. Setting the cloth aside, he put his arm around her shoulders again, and tried to pull her into an embrace. After a moment's resistance, her body yielded to him, and she curled up against his chest, her arms reaching around his waist. Her breathing returned mostly to normal; only every few breaths did her chest heave with a sob. He stroked her hair, and they rested together quietly for several minutes.

Finally, Rhianna released her hold on him and sat up, rubbing at her eyes.

"How are you feeling," Loghain asked.

"Better. I think I'm all right now. My stomach's stopped hurting. I just feel . . . tired."

He reached up to place his palm against her forehead; she wasn't running a fever. Thankfully, it appeared as though whatever illness the bee stings had caused had run its course.

"We should go back," she suggested. "Anora will be wondering where you are." She sat up straighter, and put a hand on her hair. "Oh, Maker," she swore softly. "I must look wretched."

Loghain sat back and assessed her appearance. Her gown was fine, and enough color had returned to her face she no longer looked alarmingly ill. Her hair, however, was somewhat stringy from sweat, and the flowers woven into it earlier were wilted and off-kilter. He chewed at the inside of his lip, trying to think of what to do. The simplest thing would be to put it up in a braid.

"I'll fix it for you." He turned her to face away from him, and after a somewhat surprised glance over her shoulder at him, she sat still while Loghain ran his fingers through her hair, removing the flowers and combing it straight. He separated out three sections on top and began braiding them together, adding additional strands to the braid as it moved down the back of her head. It had been several years since Anora had asked him to put her hair into an "Orlesian" braid, but fortunately it was a skill that, once learned, was never really forgotten.

He soon reached the end of the braid, but then found himself at a loss. Damn. He had no cord or leather thong with which to tie it.

"Here." He reached for one of Rhianna's hands, and guided it to the end of the braid. "Hold this."

He tugged at his shirt, releasing the bottom edge from his trousers, and pulled the dagger from his boot. Rhianna started to protest when she saw what he was doing, but he shushed her and cut a strip from the bottom of the shirt. After fastening the end of the braid with this strip of cloth, he stood, and tucked the shirt back into the waist of his trousers.

He looked down at her, satisfied with the result, then pinched the skin stretched over her cheekbones to give them just a bit of color. "There. You look lovely." It was the truth.

Rhianna ran one of her hands across the braid, then smiled shyly. "Thank you, ser."

"Of course." He offered her a hand as she got to her feet. "Are you sure you feel well enough to go back inside? It will be noisy in there, with music and dancing and people drinking more than they should. I don't want you to be overwhelmed. I'd be happy to escort you back to Highever House, if you prefer."

"No, that's not necessary. I'll be fine. I really do feel much better." She paused. "Thank you, Teyrn Loghain. For everything."

"No." He grasped her shoulders, looking directly into her eyes. "Thank you, Rhianna. For what you did for my daughter this morning."

Rhianna bit her lip as if embarrassed, but then she nodded, and together, they returned to the Great Hall.

The atmosphere inside was, indeed, festive. Another course of the meal had been served, and the musicians were playing as a troupe of jugglers cavorted for the delighted crowd. Two men in parti-colored clothing balanced a woman on their shoulders as she juggled five flaming torches into the air, while other members of the troupe did cartwheels and somersaults in a ring around them.

Loghain guided Rhianna around the edges of the hall, back to their seats. Anora gave her father a quizzical look, and he whispered into her ear what had happened.

Frowning, Anora leaned across him and took Rhianna's hand in one of her own. With a warm smile, she gave the girl's hand a squeeze. Rhianna nodded and returned the smile.

Loghain nudged Rhianna on the shoulder, offering her a sip from his wine goblet. She accepted the goblet, taking a small sip and swishing it around in her mouth before swallowing, as if to remove the bad taste that lingered after being sick. After a second sip, she handed the goblet back to Loghain, giving him a grateful smile before settling back to watch the entertainment, as Loghain did the same.

Now, the woman who had been juggling was upside down, balancing on her hands on the shoulders of the two men, and the rest of the troupe had formed a pyramid behind them. A few minutes later, the jugglers were joined by a man who could swallow a sword. He looked familiar, and Loghain thought he might be the same man who had performed on the back of the donkey at the Festival of Wolves.

After the sword-swallowing was finished, an elven woman strode into the center of the hall, leading a huge beast on a very thin chain. The woman had red hair and tattoos on her face, and wore leathers that barely covered her "assets." She looked Dalish, judging by her tattoos, although it was unusual for one of the Dalish to become a traveling performer like this.

His curiosity about the elf, however, was eclipsed by the sight of the woman's animal companion. It was a cat of some sort, but unlike anything he had ever seen. The creature was enormous - at least twice, maybe three times as big as the leopards they had seen at the festival. Mostly a rusty, warm orange color, it had black stripes, and a white underbelly, with dramatic black markings on its face, and piercing yellow eyes.

Loghain leaned over to whisper in Rhianna's ear, "What sort of animal is that?"

"I have no idea. But isn't she the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" Rhianna's voice was thin and breathy; yes, he should have guessed that the girl would be enamored of this creature, whatever it was.

"She is beautiful," he agreed.

The huge cat leapt over barrels, and crawled on its belly along the floor. At one point, when it came very close to the king's table, the creature paused, fixing Rhianna in its stare. Maker's blood, those eyes were . . . unsettling. And the creature was truly enormous, with hulking shoulders and a massive, broad face, paws larger than Loghain's hands, and claws several inches long. He tensed in his seat. Why was it staring at Rhianna? The beast raised its ears, and held its tail high. For a moment, Loghain thought it intended to leap at the girl, and he prepared to throw himself in front of her and push her out of the way. Then Rhianna leaned forward, a broad smile on her face, and the creature made a chuffing sound at her. Oh, Maker. Of course, they were just telling one another hello. Feeling somewhat foolish for ever having worried, Loghain settled back into his chair.

After the woman led the animal from the hall, a trio of robed figures strode to the center of the room and dimmed the torchlight that illuminated the room. The mages performed a variety of conjurations for the pleasure of the guests: fireballs that exploded overhead like stars; twinkling lights that danced in the air making ripples and spirals and cascades; lightning that raced overhead in the shape of a dragon. Each burst of colorful light brought a gasp of pleasure from the spectators in the hall.

•o•o•o•o•o•

At the end of the performance, as the torchlight grew bright again, there was a hush throughout the hall. Then, the crowd burst into raucous applause; the magic show had been excellent, indeed. Soon, people began moving around the hall, getting up to stretch their legs, as servants and musicians prepared the hall for the dancing which would follow.

Rhianna was feeling much better, thankfully, although perhaps not so much better she was interested in dancing. But there was something else she wanted very much to do.

Leaning toward Teyrn Loghain, she asked, "Do you think it would be all right if I went out to find the woman who brought the big cat?"

"You're feeling better?" She nodded. "Then, I don't see why not," he agreed, smiling as though he were not surprised by the request. "Make sure to come back and tell me what sort of an animal that is, and where it comes from originally."

"I will."

She found the elven woman and her animal companion sitting in the courtyard in front of the palace, where the animal lapped up water from the fountain with her enormous pink tongue.

Rhianna approached them, slowly, and then hung back at a distance, not wanting to startle either of them. The big cat spotted the girl, and a moment later, the elf turned to look as well.

"You can come closer," the elf offered in a slightly accented voice. "Maya won't harm you."

"I know. Not unless she thought I was going to harm you. My name's Rhianna, by the way. I saw you perform just now. Well, you probably guessed that. I . . . well, I was curious about your cat. I've never seen one like Maya before. Is she some sort of stripy leopard?"

"No, she is called a tiger, and she's from Seheron originally. And my name is Melethiel. I noticed during the performance Maya was interested in you. Now I understand why. You can talk to her, too, can't you?"

"Yes," Rhianna felt her eyes grow wide. "Does this mean you talk to her as well?"

The woman laughed. "Do you think I would go anywhere with an animal like this if I couldn't? She could eat me for breakfast and still be hungry!"

Maya nudged the woman's hand with her large forehead, and puffed air out of her mouth in protest.

"I know you would never actually eat me for breakfast, my love," the elf said fondly. "Or any other meal." To Rhianna, she continued, "Maya's saved my life. More than once."

"She's really beautiful. And I expect I'd feel safe with a friend like Maya nearby. I have a companion of my own. He's a mabari hound," Rhianna said conversationally to both the tiger and the woman. "But he had to stay home tonight. He's too little to be trusted at a wedding just yet." Rhianna paused. "I wonder, when you talk to her, is it like pictures in your head? That's how it is for me, only . . . well, I've never met anyone else who could talk to animals the way I do."

"Haven't you?" the woman replied. "I suppose that's not too surprising. I haven't met very many others either, although it's not really uncommon among my people. And yes, it's like pictures." Rhianna studied the tattoos on the woman's face - done in dark red ink, it looked like she had stripes almost like those on the face of the tiger.

"Your people . . . you're Dalish, yes?" The only elves Rhianna had ever known were those who lived in the cities. Servants, mostly. She'd never met - or even seen, as far as she knew - one of the elves who lived outside of the Alienages, living a nomadic lifestyle in the forests and plains of Thedas.

"I am." She paused. "Although I have not lived with my clan for a number of years. Do you live here in Denerim?" the elf asked.

"No," Rhianna replied. "My family is just here for the wedding. I live in Highever, on the north coast. Have you ever been to Highever?"

"No, this is the first time I've been in Ferelden at all."

"Oh," Rhianna exclaimed. "You should definitely come to Highever sometime. It's lovely. You and Maya both will always be welcome there. I'm the daughter of the teyrn, so if you come to town, just ask for me at the castle and I'll make sure you and Maya have a place to stay."

Maya padded over on her huge feet, and rubbed her face against Rhianna's legs. Rhianna knelt down and rubbed the bridge of the tiger's very wide nose.

"I would appreciate that," Melethiel replied. "Perhaps we will come to Highever one day."

For the next several minutes, the three "chatted" companionably, while Rhianna dug her fingers into the thick fur behind Maya's ears, and scratched it vigorously, causing the tiger to chuff with pleasure.

After Rhianna finally bid Melethiel and Maya farewell, repeating her invitation to visit Highever, she headed back inside the palace.

On her way to the great hall, she turned a corner and nearly walked headlong in the very last person on earth she wanted to see: Habren Bryland.

Habren was with her friends, Tanith and Alysanne, and together, the three of them looked like a matched set of evil witches out of a fairy tale: one with dark hair, one with red hair, and one blonde.

"Oh, look. If it isn't Princess CousCous," Habren said nastily.

"Princess CousCous?" Tanith laughed. "Don't you mean 'The Cousland Whore?"

"What did you call me?" Rhianna looked from one girl to the other; all three of them had nearly identical smirks on their horrible faces.

"Did she stutter?" Habren asked. "I would have thought you'd be used to the nickname by now. After the note Thomas and I left for you back in Highever."

"Note? What are you talking about?"

"The note, stupid." Habren leaned closer. "The one we left on your door the night before you performed in the festival? Or are you really so dim-witted you've already forgotten?"

"Or perhaps she just didn't understand the big words," Tanith suggested.

What in the world were they talking about? Rhianna had never seen any note. Certainly not one that called her a whore.

"Leave me alone, Habren." Rhianna was too tired for this, and her stomach was starting to hurt again. She tried to walk around the girls, but Habren stepped forward, blocking her way, as Tanith came up on Rhianna's left side, making sure she couldn't escape in that direction either.

"You think you're so special, don't you?" Habren sneered. "Getting to stand up with the queen at her wedding. What a shame you weren't the one who got married today. That's what you really wanted, wasn't it?"

"What?" Rhianna remembered what Teyrn Loghain had said, that Habren was nasty because she was jealous. "What are you talking about?"

"King Cailan. It's obvious you're in love with him."

"Are you mad? Of course I'm not in love with the king."

"Oh yes, you are. Don't try and lie about it," Alysanne grinned. "I saw you crying when you walked back through the Chantry after the wedding."

Habren's smile was triumphant as Rhianna's face fell. She had been crying, but not for the reason they thought. Of course, there was no way she would the truth. Not to Habren. She was more certain than ever Habren had been responsible for the bees.

"Rhianna loves Cailan," Habren laughed. "It's such a shame. In love with him, for all the good it will do you. Because you'll never be queen now."

"I've never wanted to be queen," Rhianna insisted, feeling herself start to feel anxious, but determined that Habren would not know she was upset. "And I know why you're so mean, Habren. It's because you're jealous of me."

"Jealous!" Habren barked with laughter. "Of you? What's there to be jealous of?" Habren mocked.

Rhianna forced herself to stand straighter, and look Habren in the eye. "You're jealous because I'm the daughter of a teyrn, and you're the daughter of an arl. You hate the fact I outrank you, and always will."

Rhianna saw something flicker in Habren's eyes. Fear? Or doubt? Something small and scared and almost lost-looking.

Maker's blood. It was true. What Loghain had said really was true. Habren was jealous, and for a moment, Rhianna had glimpsed it in her eyes.

But almost immediately, Habren's expression shifted. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth curled up into a sneer as nasty as any Rhianna had ever seen before, and Rhianna felt a chill down her spine, like a trickle of cold water.

"You really do think you're better than everyone else, don't you?" Habren spat. "But let me tell you something, _Princess_. You aren't. You're not better than anyone. You're just a sad, ugly, pasty-faced, stupid little baby, who no one will ever really love." Her smile grew even nastier. "Oh, yes, someday some poor fool will ask for your hand. And I suppose if he's stupid enough, he might even like you a bit. But how will you ever know for certain? The truth is you won't. You won't ever know if your husband really loves you, or if he's just pretending?"

Rhianna's stomach clenched, and the nausea returned. "What's that supposed to mean? Why would someone pretend to love me?"

Tanith snickered. "Isn't it obvious? You're the daughter of a teyrn. Everyone will try to marry you just because of who your father is."

Rhianna blinked. Of course she knew someday she'd have to make a political marriage. But she'd never thought that meant her husband wouldn't care for her at all. Surely, that couldn't really be true.

"But what about you, Alysanne?" she asked. "Don't you think Bann Krole cares about you?"

Alysanne laughed. "Bann Krole? I don't care what he thinks of me. He's old and he smells bad and he only has one leg and he's horribly ugly and I'm sure he doesn't care at all about me. Marrying me is just a way to secure relations in the south, and he's agreed not to accept any dowry, so father said I have to marry him whether I want to or not. I don't care. I know I shall have to lay with him sometimes, but with any luck he'll die soon and I'll have all his money. And then I'll take a lover. A handsome knight, or maybe a farmer who is good with his hands."

She shared a look with the other two girls, and they giggled to themselves, although Rhianna didn't really understand why. "Perhaps," the blonde-haired girl continued, "I'll even take a lover before the old man dies! Then I'd know he truly cares for me, knowing if we were to be caught together, he'd probably be killed." Again the three girls laughed, although to Rhianna it didn't seem funny at all.

"No, Rhianna," Habren said slowly, as if talking to a very small, stupid child. "You will never really know how any man feels about you. Of course you'll get lots of marriage proposals. And tonight, I'm sure lots of men will ask you to dance. But every time it happens, ask yourself this: does he really like you, or is he just pretending so he can have a dance with the daughter of a teyrn?" She paused, snickering. "To be honest, you don't have to wonder. I can assure you, he'll be pretending."

All three girls burst into laughter at this and then, with Habren in the lead, turned and made their way back into the great hall.

Rhianna stood, watching them walk away, feeling empty inside and very, very small. Her lower lip began to quiver. No. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. Not because of Habren and her horrid friends. Even if what they had said was true.

The garden. She'd go back out into the garden, where she wouldn't have to be around people, at least for a few minutes. At least until she was certain there was no danger of bursting into tears. But as she turned to go back outside, Bann Teagan walked by.

"Rhianna? Is everything all right?"

She pushed away her anxiety, and forced herself to smile. "Of course, Bann Teagan. Everything's fine."

"Are you sure? You looked a bit . . ."

"I'm fine," she said brightly.

"Well, then perhaps you'll allow me to escort you back inside?"

"Oh, all right. Thank you." She took his arm, but couldn't help remembering what Habren and Tanith and Alysanne had said.

So, when Teagan asked her if she'd like to dance, she was sure he was just being polite, and declined, excusing herself to wander over to one of the tables set with refreshments. She looked at the selection of sweet and savory treats. She should probably be hungry, having thrown up what little dinner she had eaten, but her stomach was feeling unsettled, and she didn't want to risk being sick again.

Someone walked up beside her, and she turned to find Nathaniel Howe smiling down at her. "Good evening, Rhianna. I hope you're enjoying the celebration."

In truth, it had been a mostly horrible evening, after a rather dreadful day, but she smiled a bright smile that only someone who knew her very well would doubt. "Of course. The entertainment was wonderful, didn't you think so?"

"I did, indeed," he agreed, his voice deep and gravelly. He really was handsome, with his grey eyes and his strong chin, and the small patch of hair growing beneath his lower lip. "Were you planning to have something to eat?" he asked.

"No, I'm not really hungry."

"Then, perhaps," he suggested, "you would care to join me in a dance?"

Rhianna's breath caught in her throat. A dance with Nathaniel sounded lovely, but as she opened her mouth to accept his offer, Habren's voice flooded back into her head.

"_Ask yourself this: does he really like you, or is he just pretending, so he can have a dance with the daughter of a teyrn_?"

She swallowed the words she would have spoken. "N-no, thank you," she stuttered. She looked into his eyes for one more moment, watching them narrow and look almost confused, then she turned and made her way to the nearest door, and out into the garden. Hot tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to shed them.

She would not cry. She would _not_ cry. Even if Nathaniel was only asking her to dance because her father was the teyrn of Highever, that was no reason to cry.

Without really being aware of where she was going, she found herself at the far corner of the garden, at the duck pond where she and Teyrn Loghain had sat a few weeks earlier. Again, the area was blessedly free of other people. She sat on the bench and put her face in her hands.

She would not cry. She wouldn't. Crying was for babies.

Only a few minutes had passed when she sensed someone approaching. She didn't need to look up to know who it was; she recognized the sound of his boots on the gravel. But she looked up anyway.

"Hello, Teyrn Loghain," she whispered. "What are you doing out here?"

Loghain sat beside her, frowning. "Looking for you. I saw you run out of the hall, and I thought you might be feeling sick again."

She shook her head, chewing at her bottom lip. "No, I'm not sick. I'm . . . I'm all right."

"Something's wrong. That much is obvious. What is it?"

She shook her head again, more vehemently this time. "Really, it's nothing. I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me." His voice was quiet, but a sharpness in his tone caught her attention, and she looked up directly into his eyes. "If you don't want to tell me what's wrong, then don't tell me. But don't lie and say everything is all right when I can see it's not."

She felt her cheeks grow warm, and she looked away from the intensity of his gaze.

"I'm sorry. Yes, you're right, I am upset. But it's just . . . I know it's stupid. So completely stupid."

"What happened?"

"Habren. And her friends. Something Habren said to me."

"Habren? You know better than to listen to anything Habren Bryland has to say."

"I know," she laughed mirthlessly. "Except this time what she said is true. I don't want it to be true, but it is and there isn't anything I can do about it."

"I highly doubt that. What exactly did she say?"

"Well, she said a lot of things. Awful things. Something about a note she and Thomas left for me before the Festival of Wolves. That part didn't make any sense at all. But the part that's true is . . . well, she said I'll never know if the man I marry really cares for me, or if he's just pretending because of who my father is." She looked up to meet Loghain's gaze. "That is true, isn't it? I never will know, because I never won't be the daughter of a teyrn. And she said the same thing would happen tonight. That anyone who asks me to dance is only doing it because they want to dance with the daughter of a teyrn, not because they actually like me." She sighed. "I know I'll have to make a political marriage someday. I know that. But I always hoped the person I marry will be able love me, at least a little. But what if she's right? What if I never will be able to tell?"

A muscle in Loghain's cheek twitched, and for a moment, Rhianna felt frightened by the expression on his face. He looked almost as angry as he'd been in the alley beside the Chantry.

He swallowed, once, before speaking. "Habren is wrong, Rhianna. You will be able to tell, I promise. That's not to say there isn't some truth in what she said. There will always be people who want to be near you merely because you are the daughter of a teyrn. But that isn't the same as everyone feeling that way. I know for a fact there are people who think you are quite wonderful and don't care one whit that your father is the teyrn of Highever."

"Besides my family?"

"Besides your family."

"Really? Who?"

"Well, Maric for one. He likes you, he told me so himself, many times. And he's the king. He can be friends with whomever he wants without caring what people think." He paused. "And he's not the only one."

"No? Who else?"

"Me."

She laughed softly. "Really?" she asked, not sure whether or not to believe even this. Tears tried to well up in her eyes again, and she worked to hold them back.

"Do you doubt it? Can you think of any other reason I've spent most of the past month riding out in the countryside with you, or training with you at the fort? Or why I allowed you to take me out on that ridiculously small boat, so you could talk to the dolphins? Or why I'm sitting here with you right now? I enjoy your company, Rhianna. You're funny and smart and easy to be with. I like that you're the daughter of a teyrn. You have an interesting perspective because of it. But I would like you just as well if you were the daughter of a milkmaid or a blacksmith or the First Enchanter himself."

Mention of the First Enchanter made her giggle. "You . . . you're serious, aren't you? You really mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. You're . . . well . . . you're the best friend I have in Ferelden right now. Which makes you, other than Maric, the best friend I have anywhere in all the world."

Looking into his face, she could see he meant it. He really meant it.

"You're my best friend too, you know," she admitted.

And he was. There was no one else who came close, except maybe her brother. But even Fergus didn't understand her as well as Loghain did.

There was more to it than that, though. Something that had been floating in her consciousness for a while, just beneath the surface, but she hadn't acknowledged before. Partly because she didn't understand it, and partly because it scared her.

But she knew it was true. Right now, in this moment, she realized it was true.

She loved him.

Well, of course she loved him. She had loved him as long as she could remember. He'd always been so good to her, so kind. He'd always been there when she needed him. Just like this evening. She had been upset, and suddenly there he was, with kind words and smiles and good advice.

That's not what she meant. She loved him, yes, but she was _in love_ with him, as well. She wasn't entirely certain what that even meant, but she knew it was true.

Most of her ideas about love came from tales of knights and ladies, or gallant tales of King Maric and Queen Rowan. The stories seemed to focus on grand gestures and wild declarations of love and passionate kisses, and those things still seemed so foreign to her, and a more than a little bit frightening. But she'd also seen the way her parents were together. The way they kissed when they thought no one was looking. The way they held hands. The way they looked across the room at one another sometimes, and just smiled.

And that was what she wanted. With Loghain. She wanted to be near him, always. To lean up against him and feel his arms wrap around her. To smile at him from across the room and see him smile back. She even wanted to kiss him, to press her lips against his and feel his breath warm against her face (although it was overwhelming to let her mind wander any further than that).

She loved him. And no matter what else happened during the rest of her life, she would never forget this moment. The moment when she knew without a doubt she loved Loghain Mac Tir.

And he'd just told her he cared about her, too. Of course he hadn't meant the same thing. He thought of her as his friend, and probably still as a child. But knowing he cared, even a little, made her feel warm inside.

"Rhianna, is everything all right?" He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, as though checking for a fever. "You look a bit flushed. You're not feeling sick again, are you?"

"No. I don't feel sick at all."

"And you do believe me, don't you? There are people who like you, just for yourself. You don't have to listen to Habren. She's trying to make you feel awful, so don't give her the satisfaction."

"I believe you."

"Good. Because it's not a bad idea to remember Habren's words. There _will_ be people who want to be close to you just because you're a Cousland. But most people will want to know you just because you're you. You simply need to learn to tell the difference. Now," he added, looking directly into her eyes, "how would you like to dance with someone you can be certain really likes you? For you, and not because your father is Bryce Cousland." He stood, and gallantly offered her his arm.

"You'll dance with me? But you don't dance with anyone. I don't think I've ever seen you dance in my whole life."

He raised a brow at her. "Just because I choose not to dance doesn't mean I can't. I dance very well, as a matter of fact. Which you'll see for yourself if you accept my offer."

"All right." Feeling suddenly nervous, but happy, Rhianna stood. Arm in arm, she and Loghain returned to the palace.

•o•o•o•o•o•

As they entered the hall, the musicians struck up a _basse danse_, and Loghain led Rhianna to the center of the room to join the other couples lined up for the dance.

Hand in hand, they stepped sedately in time with the music, sweeping towards one another and then away again, bowing, then dropping hands to weave a circle around the other dancers. When they came back together, Loghain thought Rhianna looked happy. She had a genuine smile on her lips, one of the few he had seen all day, and the color had returned to her face. It appeared any ill effect from the bee stings had passed.

Maric was right: Rhianna was a lovely girl, and would be a beautiful woman someday.

Damn the Bryland girl, anyway. If she had been within arm's reach, Loghain might not have been able to stop himself from strangling her. What on earth had caused her to become so horribly mean-spirited? Her father was a kind-hearted, jovial man, but somehow Habren had turned out just the opposite.

It was infuriating, the thought of anyone being deliberately cruel to Rhianna. _Rhianna _of all people. Loghain had always felt protective of the girl, but especially so today, after all Rhianna had gone through earlier. He still felt ill when he remembered grabbing her arm, her cries of pain. He would give anything to go back and redo that moment. He should have known better than to believe Rhianna would have behaved badly.

Perhaps that, perhaps all of it – everything that had happened today – was why it seemed more important than ever Rhianna understand how he felt about her. A few days from now, he would sail away from Ferelden, and who knows how long it would be until he saw her again. And while he was away - hundreds, maybe thousands of miles away - he needed her to know how special she was. And he needed to know she would not feel poorly about herself while he was gone.

So he had asked her to dance. He hadn't danced in years. Not, if his memory was correct, since the night he and Celia were wed.

He hoped this, even more than the words he had spoken out in the garden, would let Rhianna know how much she meant to him.

•o•o•o•o•o•

When the _basse danse_ ended, and the piper played the opening notes of a more enthusiastic bransle, the dancers formed small circles of three couples each.

As it so happened, Loghain Mac Tir wasn't the only one thinking about Rhianna Cousland. In fact, a great many people watched with interest as the pair stood side by side to begin this new dance.

•o•

Rendon Howe narrowed his eyes as Rhianna skipped into the center, clapped her hands three times, and then spun around and returned to the circle, joining hands with Loghain Mac Tir as they stepped first to one side, and then back again.

The girl who had rejected his own son's offer to dance was dancing with another partner. And looking quite pleased with herself.

If only Nathaniel wasn't such a useless waste. Why hadn't he been more forceful with the girl? She was only thirteen, an age at which girls were supposed to be meek and compliant. Even if her parents couldn't be convinced to agree to a match, Nathaniel should have been able to seduce her into begging to be his wife. He wasn't a bad-looking lad, after all. Of course, the Cousland girl would foul up the simplest of plans; the little wretch had been doing that for years.

And what was Mac Tir doing with her, anyway? Did he have his eye on the girl? The two of them did seem to spend rather a lot of time alone, doing Maker-knows-what outside of the city or up at Fort Drakon. And they danced well together, making it look effortless. As though they were unusually comfortable in one another's company.

Perhaps Loghain Mac Tir had more than just his eyes on the girl.

Not that he could be blamed for that. She was a pretty thing. A manipulative shrew of a girl, but undeniably pretty.

•o•

Eamon Guerrin stood to one side of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest, as he watched Rhianna Cousland dance. The girl kicked her foot to the right, then to the left, and then jumped into the air to perform a perfectly executed capriole. It should have been a pleasing sight - she danced well, and was nice enough to look at - but Eamon felt nothing but disappointment. This entire day would have been much more gratifying had it been the Cousland girl's wedding to Cailan.

Damn Bryce and Eleanor for not listening to reason, anyway. It had been a mistake, a serious mistake, not to support Bryce at the Landsmeet. If nothing else, they could have put Bryce on the throne now, and married the girl to Cailan later. Best of both worlds; too bad Eamon had only thought of it after the fact.

As things now stood, they would never be rid of the Maker-damned Mac Tirs.

Perhaps there was still something to be salvaged from all this. The girl would have to marry someone, and Teagan was very much in need of a wife. Very much in need. Marrying a Cousland would certainly do no harm to the Guerrin name, and any children that came from the union would have a legitimate claim to the throne, rather than the tentative connection they now had, as brothers to the late queen.

It was worth thinking on, at any rate. The Cousland girl was young and seemed healthy enough (although she had looked sickly earlier in the evening), and Teagan could hardly complain about a wife with such an excellent pedigree. Something to think about, before her father made an arrangement elsewhere. Perhaps Eamon would bring up the subject next time he spoke with Bryce.

•o•

As the bransle ended, and the musicians began to play a galliard, Eleanor Cousland couldn't help but notice the look on her daughter's face: her smile, the light in her eyes. Rhianna practically glowed with pleasure. Surely, the mere fact of dancing wasn't the cause; Rhianna enjoyed dancing well enough, but she'd never seemed this happy about it before. So perhaps it was her choice of partner.

Of course, Rhianna had always been fond of Loghain; the two had been friends for years. But Eleanor knew her daughter well enough to notice a change. Something in Rhianna's face, a subtle something, perhaps, but there nonetheless. Something that hinted her feelings had grown somewhat warmer.

Rhianna and Loghain. It wouldn't be a bad match. In fact, it would be an excellent match in many ways. As long as Rhianna agreed, if the Teyrn of Gwaren took a liking to her, Eleanor would be pleased. Gwaren was rather farther away than Eleanor would prefer, but Loghain spent so much of his time in Denerim that surely the Couslands would still see their daughter regularly. And Loghain had always taken such care with Rhianna, been gentle, and kind, even risking his own life to tend to her when she had the plague. Rhianna would be safe with him, of that Eleanor had no doubt.

Watching them dance together put a smile on Eleanor's face. Rhianna looked so happy, as did Loghain, for that matter. And for a man who rarely danced - Eleanor couldn't remember ever seeing him dance before - he knew the steps perfectly. Right, left, right, left, cadence, and he was remarkably light on his feet.

Yes, if that is indeed what the future were to bring, Eleanor would welcome a marriage between Rhianna and Loghain.

•o•

The music was lively, and the dancers appeared to be enjoying themselves, leaping and hopping their way through the rather athletic galliard. Bryce Cousland, however, was unable to get into the spirit of the thing, as he watched his daughter on the dance floor for the first time tonight. With Loghain Mac Tir, of all people.

Why had she not agreed to dance with Nathaniel Howe? Or waited for one of the other boys closer to her own age to ask? Oswyn Davies, or one of Wulff's sons. Vaughan Kendalls, perhaps. Someone appropriate.

Perhaps Bryce was getting ahead of himself, but lately his mind was consumed with thoughts of Rhianna's future, and when he considered the various possibilities, the thought of his daughter with Loghain Mac Tir was not a possibility that pleased him.

He knew what Eleanor would say: Loghain is a hero. It would be an unparalleled political match. Rhianna likes him. Which was an understatement; Rhianna seemed drawn to the man like a moth to a flame. Their relationship had always seemed innocent before, but now he couldn't get the image out of his mind of his daughter in Loghain's lap with her dress undone, and the man's dagger at her throat.

Intellectually, he knew Mac Tir hadn't threatened Rhianna. Far from it. Once again, Loghain had been there to assist Rhianna when she needed it. Even so, Bryce wished the man would stay away from his daughter. Bryce hated the thought of anyone hurting her. And yet, Rhianna had been hurt. Time and time again, and Bryce had been unable to stop it. And every time, who was there at her side? Loghain Mac Tir. Almost as if he drew trouble to her by his very presence.

Besides, the more time she spent in his company, the less chance there would be of her getting to know any of the young men her own age. And if Rhianna were to develop an attachment . . . if an attachment were to form in either direction . . .

The dancers performed a lavolta, the men lifting their partners into the air and spinning around. The sight of his daughter in Loghain's arms gave Bryce a cold and heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Well, of course it did. She was only thirteen, and the thought of her with any man turned his stomach. But the Valdric girl was the same age, and in just a few months she'd be the wife of Valudur Krole, who was even older than Bryce and crippled to boot. Someday all too soon, Bryce and Eleanor would have to make a decision about Rhianna's future. Especially now there was no chance for her to become queen.

Well, one thing was certain. He didn't want his daughter with that man. She was too young, too sweet, too loving to find herself wed to a man like Loghain Mac Tir. The man who had been well known during the Occupation, and afterward, as Maric's "enforcer." The man who did the king's dirty work, who ran those who crossed him through with a blade without a second thought. The man who had abandoned his first wife.

No. Bryce did not like the idea of his daughter – his precious, beautiful daughter –trapped in a marriage like that.

•o•

Rhianna Cousland had no idea she was the subject of so much interest as she moved through the dance, tapping her foot to the front, then kicking up her heel to the back before spinning all the way around. Loghain stepped close and grabbed her around the waist and lifted her high into the air, and she couldn't stop a delighted peal of laughter from escaping her throat.

One thought kept returning to her, time and time again: how strange and amazing it was that one of the worst days of her life had suddenly become one of the best, loveliest, most beautiful evenings she could have ever imagined.

And all because, every few steps, she found herself back in the arms of Loghain Mac Tir.

•o•

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•o•

_A big **thank you** to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair, and also to all my lovely reviewers: KrystylSky, Milly-finalfantasy, Psyche Sinclair, WardenVaer, Doom-N-GloomGal, Shadowfang, and a Guest._

___There are dollmaker images that accompany this chapter, showing Anora and Rhianna's gowns for the wedding. You'll find them by following the "Extras" link on my profile. _

_Note to Shadowfang: Rhianna did speak to the dolphins; it just happened off-screen. She and Loghain went out in a boat the day after he returned to Denerim, as they agreed on the dock, but I didn't write a separate chapter about it. We will hear more about this in the future, though - and whether or not the dolphins have any success in their search for King Maric._


	31. A remarkable service to the crown

_**8 Firstfall, 9:25 Dragon  
Highever Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

Alone in her bedroom, Rhianna had spent most of the day was taking inventory of her possessions, and deciding what to leave here, and what to bring back with her to Highever when they left on the morrow.

_If_ she left for Highever on the morrow. There was something she needed to ask Teyrn Loghain, something she'd meant to ask yesterday but never had the chance with all that happened. Hopefully she would have another opportunity to see him before her parents left Denerim the following day.

Either way, all of her clothes would come with; she might outgrow them before the next time she came to the city. Most of the books, on the other hand, would stay. She'd read them all, and had the entire library back in Highever, so it didn't make sense to haul them back and forth. And she probably wouldn't be able to bring her books along if Loghain agreed to her suggestion.

She was folding clothes and putting them into a trunk when a knock sounded at her door.

"Begging your pardon, milady." It was one of the household servants. "There's someone here to see you. Out in the courtyard."

"A visitor? Who is it?"

"It's Her Majesty Queen Anora, milady. And her father, the Teyrn of Gwaren."

Teyrn Loghain was here? And the queen? Why on earth would Anora be here to see her?

"Will you ask the Queen and the Teyrn into the sitting room, please? And let my parents know, if you haven't already."

"Your parents are out in the courtyard, milady, with Her Majesty and the Teryn. And they asked you join them there. I think there is something they want to show you outside."

After checking to make certain her hair wasn't messy, she hurried downstairs and out into the courtyard. Her entire family was there, along with Queen Anora and Teyrn Loghain and, surprisingly, Faolan. Feeling suddenly shy, Rhianna slowed her pace as she walked to the cluster of people gathered in the courtyard.

"Darling," her mother began with an almost manic smile, as though she knew something Rhianna did not. "You have a visitor."

"_I_ have a visitor? You mean, you're here to see _me_, Your Majesty?" Rhianna asked Anora.

It's funny; just the other day, she was just Lady Anora, a girl Rhianna had known all her life. Now, she was the queen and Rhianna couldn't decide if that would make things different or not.

"Yes, it is you I'm here to see." Anora's smile was warm and friendly; perhaps things wouldn't be so different, after all. "I have something I want to say to you, Rhianna." Anora put out one of her hands; Rhianna grasped it in her own. When Rhianna glanced at Loghain, he nodded, so slightly no one else could have noticed. It was a gesture meant just for her, and she felt a bit less nervous.

Anora continued, "Yesterday, just after the wedding ceremony, my father told me you had been stung by a bee hiding in my bouquet of flowers. Then, earlier today, he told me the entire truth about what happened." Her voice grew quieter. "That someone pulled the wings off two dozen bees and put them in the flowers on purpose, and you were stung repeatedly, causing painful welts and making you ill during the feast. Is this an accurate description?"

Rhianna swallowed, glancing around uncomfortably, feeling nervous about the way everyone was staring at her.

"Yes, that's what happened."

"Father also said you went through it all in silence, so as not to disrupt the wedding, and out of a desire that I not be harmed in any way by the bees."

"Yes, I suppose so. But it was nothing, Your Majesty. I just didn't want you to be stung at your own wedding."

"It was far from nothing, Rhianna." Anora's voice was firm. "You showed remarkable bravery, and withstood great pain for my sake. You used your own body to defend the person of the Queen, no less than if you'd put yourself between me and a sword."

The smile fell from Rhianna's face. What was Anora talking about? Rhianna had been stung by some bees, nothing more. What was this about defending the queen? She hadn't done anything special, not really.

Anora nodded at her father, and Loghain stepped forward, a small velvet-covered box in his hands. Rhianna felt a flutter in her stomach. Loghain flipped open the box, and Anora took from it a silver medallion.

"Father," Anora asked, "Will you bear witness?"

"I will," he agreed.

Rhianna looked back over her shoulder at her parents, who were smiling at her. Her father gestured with his head, as if to indicate she should turn her attention back to the queen. After a brief glance at Loghain, Rhianna turned to Queen Anora once again, biting her bottom lip.

"Lady Rhianna Cousland," Anora said, holding the medal in her hands. "You have performed a remarkable service to the Crown, and in appreciation for your bravery and valor, I hereby award you Calenhad's Cross, the highest honor it is a monarch's right to bestow. In the name of Calenhad the Great, here in the sight of the Maker, I commend you for heroic deeds of extraordinary selflessness and bravery, and great moral courage. Know you shall always be considered a friend to Ferelden, Lady Rhianna."

Anora stepped forward, and eased the sash on which the medal was hanging around Rhianna's neck. Blinking in surprise, Rhianna grasped the medallion, holding it up to examine it.

It was round, with an equal armed cross emblazoned upon it. Alamarri knot work designs decorated the cross and the disk that surrounded it, and a large green stone was set in the very center. It was beautiful, and felt slightly warm to the touch.

Rhianna released the medallion, allowing it to settle against her chest. It felt lovely. Comfortable, and for a moment Rhianna couldn't bring herself to move. She wasn't sure what to do, or say. Perhaps she was dreaming. It didn't seem possible Anora had just given her this honor. She couldn't remember anyone being awarded Calenhad's Cross in years.

But Anora was looking at her, a smile on her face, as if waiting her to do . . . something. Rhianna glanced around. Everyone was looking at her expectantly.

"Rhianna," Loghain whispered. She glanced up at him, alarmed. "Say something." He nodded encouragingly, and finally she found her voice.

"I . . . I don't really understand, because what I did yesterday wasn't much of anything. I just did what I had to do to keep anyone else from being harmed. But . . . thank you, Your Majesty. I am grateful for this honor." She smiled uncertainly, wishing everyone would stop staring at her and maybe explain this was some kind of joke.

Suddenly, the queen burst into laughter. "Rhianna, stop looking so shocked! You've earned this. Honestly. I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you did for me, what you went through on my behalf, yesterday. We will find out who sabotaged the flowers, and when that happens there will be severe consequences. But in the meantime, I thought this would be a way to acknowledge just how much your actions meant to me. You are a very brave young woman, a credit to your family, to Highever, and to Ferelden."

Rhianna swallowed nervously. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she repeated.

"Tell her the rest of it," Loghain whispered to his daughter.

"I will. Don't rush me," Anora said, smiling at her father. To Rhianna, she continued, "What my very impatient father would like me to say is that in addition to the medallion, I have something else to give you. I decided to give you a boon, and when I asked my father what you might want, he was adamant about what you would like best. I hope he's right; I suspect he is."

Rhianna's eyes opened wide as she realized what they were talking about. For the first time since she'd walked out into the courtyard, Rhianna felt something other than confusion and embarrassment. She'd been so overwhelmed by all the rest of it, she hadn't really had time to wonder why her favorite horse was here, but now it became clear.

"Faolan! You're talking about Faolan, aren't you?"

"Yes," Anora confirmed. "He's yours, Rhianna."

Rhianna literally squealed in happiness, and then flung herself at the queen, giving her an enthusiastic hug. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Laughing, Anora hugged the girl in return, but whispered, "Really, you ought to be thanking my father. The horse was his idea."

Rhianna needed no additional prompting. She turned and launched herself at Loghain. He laughed aloud as he swept her up and spun her around while she clung tightly to his neck. "Oh, thank you, Teyrn Loghain," she whispered. When he set her back on her feet, she asked, "Is he really mine? Forever?"

Loghain smiled. "Yes, Faolan is really yours. Forever."

Smiling so widely her face almost hurt, she approached the horse. Faolan stamped his feet and flicked his ears excitedly until she came up and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, Faolan, you get to stay with me always!"

The horse whinnied, clearly equally pleased with the arrangement.

Rhianna turned to her parents. "Can you believe it? Isn't he the most beautiful horse there has ever been?"

Bryce walked up and stroked the destrier's muscular neck. "He is beautiful, Rhianna. A warhorse, though?" He looked questioningly at Loghain. "He looks a bit spirited. I take it she's ridden him before? And is able to handle him? Did he come from the royal stables?"

Anora answered. "He was intended for the use of Maric's Shield. However, I understand he hadn't been trained yet when he was introduced to your daughter, and she was the first to ride him. My father was quite adamant Faolan should be with Rhianna. She's been riding him all month, and they get along quite well together."

"Rhianna can handle the horse, Bryce. You needn't worry about that," Loghain assured the other teyrn.

"Frankly," Fergus said, sounding a bit in awe, "I'm rather more impressed my little sister has just been awarded Calenhad's Cross. I hope this doesn't mean I have to start being nicer to her," he joked.

"I rather think it does," Eleanor said with a proud smile, and Fergus groaned in mock disappointment.

Rhianna turned back to Loghain. "May we take him out for a ride?"

"I thought you might want to do that," he replied, "But we haven't got much daylight left today. So . . . I intend to put off leaving on my voyage one additional day. That way, you and I can go riding tomorrow, if you like."

"I love that idea!" Rhianna grinned happily, but then her smile faltered. "But we're meant to be leaving in the morning ourselves." She looked to her parents. "I don't suppose we could put off our return to Highever for just one more day. Could we? Please?"

Eleanor laughed. "I don't see any reason why not. And tonight," she turned to Anora, "it would be our pleasure if you and your father would join us for dinner?"

"Yes, thank you. We would both enjoy that very much," Anora agreed.

•o•

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•o•

_Thank you to my marvelous beta, Psyche Sinclair, and to all my wonderful reviewers: WardenVaer, Milly-finalfantasy, KrystylSky, Mialiah, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and Psyche Sinclair. I can't say how much I appreciate your continuing support for my story! :)_


	32. The last thing we needed

_**9 Firstfall, 9:25 Dragon  
Near Denerim**_

•o•

"Race you to the crossroads!"

A moment later, both horses were flying at top speed up the road. Aeran was bigger, with longer legs, but he carried a heavier rider. Even so, he probably could have won, except Faolan simply wanted it more, so happy was he to be riding with his new mistress.

Loghain and Rhianna had left the city gates not long after the sun had fully risen, Dane tucked under one of Rhianna's arms and a picnic basket strapped firmly to Loghain's saddle. Rhianna waited only until they'd walked the horses long enough to warm their muscles before issuing her challenge to Loghain.

Rhianna and Faolan reached the crossroads less than a minute ahead of Loghain and Aeran, and Rhianna, face flushed and hair whipping in the wind, was laughing gleefully at their victory when Loghain pulled up beside her.

"So, where are we going today?" Rhianna asked, once she'd caught her breath.

"It doesn't matter to me. You choose."

"Well, since I've been on the road going north dozens of times between the city and Highever, let's ride to the east. Maybe along the coast? Who knows, maybe we'll finally find our sea lions."

They didn't run the horses, though. Loghain had expected Rhianna and Faolan to gallop or canter most of the way, as they had done the first time she had ridden him. But Rhianna seemed happy for Faolan to walk, allowing Dane to run alongside while she and Loghain talked.

"Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"For Faolan." She grinned at him.

"No one else can ride the beast, anyway," he said casually.

"Even so, you know how much I love him. I'll wager you spent the last month just looking for an excuse to give him to me."

"And what if I did? It was obvious to me - and to the stable master - there is something between the two of you, and you're better off together. You have a . . . connection."

An echo of Maric's voice rang in his head. Maric had spoken those very words about the girl riding beside him, the girl who was now smiling over at Loghain happily.

_You and Rhianna have . . . a connection_.

Maric, and his ridiculous suggestion Loghain should marry the girl.

No. He wasn't going to allow those thoughts to creep into his mind. He was too old for this, and she was much too young.

"I am glad you're happy with him," Loghain continued. "I know you will take excellent care of him. And he'll do the same for you."

"I love him! He and I are going to have grand adventures together, I know it."

Faolan picked his feet up jauntily, as if he agreed with the girl's sentiment. Probably, he did.

"Oh! And I met someone else who can do what I do," she added. "Who can talk to animals, I mean."

He glanced at her. "Did you really? Where?"

"At the wedding. The woman who brought the performing tiger."

"Tiger?"

"The huge stripy orange cat?" He nodded in recognition, and she continued. "The tiger's name is Maya, and the woman - Melethiel is her name - was also very nice. She's Dalish. I'd never met one of the Dalish before."

"No, I don't suppose they come through Highever very often. They seem to prefer the part of Ferelden south of the Bannorn. Although from what I hear, they also travel across the Frostbacks into Orlais and up into the Free Marches."

"Melethiel told me this was her first time in Ferelden. Although I'm not sure where she came from before that. Anyway, when I went to speak with her after the performance, she told me she talks to animals just like I do. Apparently, it's not uncommon among the Dalish. Well, it's not common, either, but she has known a couple of other people who can do it."

"That's good news," Loghain replied. "If it were some magical ability, certainly she would have discovered that by now."

"Have you still been worried I was going to turn out to be a mage?"

"No," he chuckled. "Not really. Not for a while now. But I did worry about it at first. I spent more than a few nights lying awake wondering how I would steal you away from Kinloch Hold, if it came to that. And what to do with you afterward, to keep you safe."

Rhianna turned to look directly at him, her eyes wide as she urged Faolan to a stop. Aeran halted beside the other horse.

"Are you serious? You would have . . . gotten me away from there? But mages aren't allowed to live away from the Circle, not without a templar to watch them."

"Of course I'm serious. Fortunately, it didn't come to that. Because I'd never managed to think it through very well. But you were never in any danger of having to live in the Circle of Magi. I promise."

Maker forbid. Some of the stories he'd heard from Jocelyn - who, by her own admission, had a relatively easy time of things while she lived at Kinloch Hold - had turned his stomach. And he cared nothing for the Chantry's rules. He would never have sat quietly by while Rhianna was forced to live there. Never.

Rhianna was quiet for a moment, before she spoke again. "Thank you."

This time, he didn't have to ask "for what." So he merely nodded, and urged Aeran forward again.

•o•

About an hour later, they arrived at the coast, and Loghain suggested they follow the road eastward. As they came over a gentle rise, a small cove stretched out below, and they urged their mounts to a stop. The wind swept over the top of the hill, causing him to shiver as the sharp, salty air met his nostrils.

"Oh, Teyrn Loghain!" Rhianna exclaimed. "This is beautiful! And look, across the way there's a bridge leading out to that point. I expect the view from there is very pretty."

He had to agree. The water in the cove was lighter in color than the ocean just beyond, and the surrounding hills were green with winter grass and dotted by evergreen trees. Across the cove to the north of where they stood, a rocky point jutted out into the ocean, connected to the mainland by a wooden suspension bridge. At one time, there had been a building on the site - of Tevinter construction by the look of it - but now only one section of wall, and a few lone columns remained. He doubted anyone – with the possible exception of smugglers – came here now. Still, it was pleasing to the eye, and he suspected Rhianna was right - the view from the end was likely spectacular, of the ocean and the Fereldan coastline.

The south shore stretching below them was a jumble of rocks and huge boulders. The wreck of a fairly large ship gave evidence the terrain under the water was as rocky as the shore. The wreckage lay at the mouth of the cove, and there were large holes in what was visible of the ship's hull; the thing resembled a skeleton with only the ribs remaining. All that had survived above deck were the three wooden masts, with no sign of the sails that once propelled the ship.

The sight of it, of this hulk of wreckage thrust out of the water, made him feel slightly queasy. Had _The Demelza_ met a similar fate? Or was this the fate yet to be of the ship he would board in the morning to search for Maric?

"Ships hardly ever sink," Rhianna murmured, apparently having intuited his thoughts. "Just think of how many sail on the oceans. Hundreds of ships, thousands even. And hardly any of them ever sink. You'll be safe on your voyage, Teyrn Loghain, I know it. Just like I know King Maric is still alive. Somewhere." She glanced at him. "Why don't we head further up the coast?"

"I thought you wanted to cross the bridge, and go out to the ruins? That looks like a good place to eat our lunch."

"I'm sure we can find a better spot to eat lunch."

He knew her well enough to suspect she very much wanted to see that view. She was only suggesting they move on so he wouldn't be forced to stay so near the shipwreck.

"It's not going to bother me, Rhianna. Looking at the wrecked ship, I mean. I think we ought to find our way to that bridge, and out to the ruins. Unless you really don't want to go there. For what it's worth, I'd quite like to see the view from the end."

"Well . . . all right. I wouldn't mind seeing the view, but only if you're absolutely sure."

"I am."

They led the horses down a fairly steep path that took them to the beach, but from there, Loghain couldn't see any way to get to the bridge, other than climbing straight up the rocks. He pulled a map of the coastline from his pack, and Rhianna brought Faolan close so they could study it together.

"It looks like we need to follow this path, here." With his finger, he traced a short squiggle on the parchment that appeared to pass through a canyon of sorts, then circle back to the shoreline. Looking up, he saw there was indeed a path, its entrance tucked away among the rocks. "It should bring us right to the bridge without much difficulty."

When they entered the canyon, the walls on either side looked impossible to climb: just sheer rock reaching vertically up from the ground. Their height also prevented the sunlight from reaching all the way down to the canyon floor. The earth beneath them was dry, and there was very little vegetation. Even in spring, this place was probably devoid of plant life. Atop some of the boulders, a few scruffy trees grew - just empty branches now, bony arms without any leaves - and he saw nothing but three or four bare, shrubby bushes growing down in the canyon itself.

"It's a bit spooky in here, don't you think?" Rhianna whispered. "It feels as though, if I were to shout something, the sound might echo in here forever."

While the thought might not have occurred to Loghain on his own, she was correct. It was a bit spooky. The lack of sunlight didn't bother him, but this would be a very good place indeed to set up an ambush, if someone were of a mind to do so. Not that this place was likely to see many visitors, but it was strange and uncomfortable, nonetheless.

As they passed some ruins, Rhianna said, "I wonder who in the world would have lived here. It seems a strange place to build something, don't you think?"

"Yes," Loghain agreed. "Although I suppose perhaps this place wasn't always so desolate. Maybe there were things growing here, long ago when the Imperium still ruled these lands."

"Perhaps . . ." Rhianna said, although she didn't sound convinced.

Fortunately, it didn't take long for them to make their way through, and within half an hour, they were back alongside the ocean, this time, up high above the cove, with the bridge directly in front of them. They left the horses on the landward side of the bridge and walked across, carrying the lunch basket between them. Rhianna and Loghain each held one of its handles, while Dane led the way, except when he stopped every so often to chase a butterfly, or a lizard, or his tail.

Soon, they were settled at the top of a tall cliff, a blanket beneath them, enjoying the food Loghain's cook had prepared. The puppy gnawed happily on a lamb bone provided especially for him.

"Thank you for saying we could come here," Rhianna said, looking out to the north. "It really is lovely."

She was right. The view was spectacular: the cove spread out below them to the south, and small half-moon-shaped bay to the north, with a sliver of perfect beach stretched along its perimeter. Beyond that, the ocean sparkled merrily in the bright mid-winter sunshine, and they could hear the surf breaking along the rocks below.

"So," Loghain began, selecting a leg of chicken from the basket, "Do you depart for Highever tomorrow?"

Rhianna glanced at him. "That is what my parents are planning, yes." She paused. "And you're leaving tomorrow, as well?"

"Yes."

"Where do you plan to start looking?"

"Assuming the captain agrees, I plan to comb the south coast of the Free Marches, into Orlais."

"Orlais? You're not going into Orlais yourself, are you?"

"I had thought about it."

"But you can't! It's not safe."

"What makes you say that?"

She looked at him like he had lost his mind. "You're the Hero of River Dane! You beat the chevaliers, and threw the Orlesians out of Ferelden. Don't they paint your face on all the quintains to practice killing you, so they'll be ready if you ever cross the border?"

Loghain laughed out loud. "Rhianna," he said lightly, "I think you overestimate my reputation, at least as far as the Orlesians are concerned."

In spite of his laughter, he was nervous about going into Orlais. It had been some time since the empress had sent an assassin after him, but he strongly suspected Maric's disappearance was no accident. The Orlesians had much to gain by interfering with the king. Not only would they rid themselves of a powerful, popular ruler in Ferelden, but it also gave them the opportunity to weaken the Free Marches. If Maric had successfully mediated an agreement between the Marcher Lords, the region might have been moved into a new era of peace and prosperity, and become a political force to be reckoned with. Something Loghain felt certain Empress Celene did not want to see happen.

So, the thought of traveling within Orlais - even though he intended to remain only along the coast - was worrisome.

But he didn't want to alarm Rhianna, so he laughed and looked out over the sea, hoping she wouldn't sense his disquiet. It had been difficult enough convincing Anora to let him make this voyage. He didn't want Rhianna upset with him, as well.

"Well, if I were Orlesian," she said, "I would constantly be on the lookout for the magnificent Loghain Mac Tir. Just think what a coup it would be to deliver you to Empress Celene!" She gave a crooked smile to show him she was teasing, and he laughed at her jest, but still felt vaguely uncomfortable.

"Teyrn Loghain," she said abruptly, with an intensity in her voice that hadn't been there a moment before. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"Do you think you'll find him? Do you really think he's still alive?"

"Yes. I do believe he's alive. Whether or not I'll find him? Well, I hope I will. I wouldn't be going otherwise."

She scooted a bit closer to him on the blanket, and reached out to take one of his hands. "Then take me with you." She looked directly into his eyes. "Please. I can help. You know I can. And I want to find him, nearly as much as you do."

He looked away for a moment, feeling vaguely overwhelmed, but then forced himself to look back into her eyes. Her request was surprising, except that it . . . wasn't. Of course she would want to come. And to be honest, he wanted to say yes, for myriad reasons.

But that was impossible, so he gave her the only answer he could possibly give.

"I'm sorry, Rhianna. I can't."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he put his free hand on top of hers, to silence her for a moment. "Just hear me out. Your parents would never agree to let you come with me and I can't just 'take' you away from Ferelden without their permission."

"We could ask! Maybe if I beg them, they'll agree. I'll promise anything, agree to anything they want me to do when we get back!"

"No, because more to the point," he considered how to say this without scaring her, "I have no idea how long I'll be away. And I could never guarantee your safety. One of Ferelden's ships has already disappeared without a trace. If something happens to me, I can't drag you into that. I am not willing to take you into danger, Rhianna."

"But you'll be with me the whole time! I'll always be safe with you. You've never let anything bad happen to me before, and I know you never will. Besides," she pulled her hand away, and crossed her arms in front of her chest, "if it's so dangerous, then you shouldn't go either!"

"I have to go. I have to do this," he said, not sure if he was trying to convince her, or convince himself. "This is Maric we're talking about. If he's alive, if he's out there . . . I have to try and find him. And bring him home."

"I know." She blinked, her eyes bright. "And that's why you should take me with you. There is no one else who can do what I can do. With the seabirds and the dolphins, and other creatures, as well. With me along, we can search twice as much area, above and below the water."

Maker knows the girl had a point. She could help. And more than that, nothing would have made him happier than having her company on the trip. Her cheerful conversation, and comfortable silences. The way she was interested in everything she saw. The way her face lit up when she saw him. But it wasn't an option. Even if he'd been willing to risk her life along with his own, her father would never agree, and rightly so. If she were older . . . even a few years older, perhaps. But she wasn't. She was only thirteen, and still a child.

"I can't, Rhianna." His voice was firm, resigned. "No matter how much I wish I could bring you along, it just is not possible."

She bit her lower lip, blinking often enough he knew she was fighting back tears.

Finally, she nodded. "All right. You're really not going to persuaded, are you? So I'll do what I can from here." She paused, continuing in a voice barely above a whisper, "How long will you be away?"

"As long as it takes. A few months? A year, perhaps longer?"

"That's a long time," she murmured, looking out over the water. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you, too. But it won't be forever. I promise."

She fell silent then, and for several minutes they ate their lunch quietly.

A quintet of pelicans glided silently past, their eyes stern, looking as though they were on some sort of important business. Loghain watched until they were just dots on the horizon.

"Will you tell me a story?" she asked, finally.

"What would you like to hear about?"

"Something about King Maric. You've never told me how you met him. When he was still the prince."

Loghain smiled to himself. It had been some time since he'd thought about any of that. But it wasn't a bad story, come to think of it. "All right," he agreed.

"As you know, the Orlesians occupied Ferelden for nearly eighty years. Maric and I met about six years before the Occupation ended. So, let's see, it was . . . eight-ninety-six Blessed, and I was living with my father in a camp of outlaws. We'd, all of us, been forced to leave our homes for one reason or another. Well, all the same reason when you get right down to it: greedy Orlesian lords wanting what didn't belong to them. Anyway, over the years, a lot of people had turned to my father, and he'd become the leader of this sort of makeshift town. We moved as often as necessary, to stay ahead of the chevaliers, but we'd been living in the same place - a valley in the Southron Hills - for several months."

"What was his name?" Rhianna asked. "Your father, I mean."

"Gareth. Gareth Mac Tir." She nodded, and he continued, "One evening, I was out hunting. Or, poaching, depending on who you ask, walking along the edge of the forest, when out of the woods stumbles this . . . boy. Blonde hair, covered in blood, looking completely terrified. I didn't know what to make of him, and in those days, trust was not something to be given lightly. He said his name was Hiram, which I knew was a lie, and that he was running away because a friend of his had just been killed. That part of the story, at least, sounded plausible, judging by the condition he was in."

"Was that Prince Maric?"

"Yes."

"He told you his name was Hiram? That's a funny name to choose. I don't think I've ever known someone with that name."

"Yes, neither had I. Perhaps that's why I was so suspicious. Which, of course, I was. Very suspicious. But I could also see he was in a bad way. He seemed painfully young, although I found out later he was actually two years older than I was. And, frankly, I doubted he had the smarts or the skill to stay alive through the night on his own. So, against my better judgment, I told him to follow me, and I brought him back to our camp."

"What was he doing out there, all on his own?" Rhianna asked.

"Don't rush me," he chided, but with a smile so she would know he didn't really mind the questions. "I'm getting there." He took a deep breath, taking a moment to remember the way Maric had looked that first time Loghain had laid eyes on him.

"He really wasn't very impressive," Loghain said, as much to himself as to Rhianna. "He was tall, but rather thin and gangly, and he knew how to hold a sword, but I got the feeling he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of fighting. And he'd been injured, rather badly, so when I brought him to camp, the first thing my father did was send him to Mother Ailis, the Chantry sister who had traveled with our camp since nearly the beginning, so she could tend to his wounds.

"We still didn't know who 'Hiram' really was, but the next day, I heard a bit of gossip from a rider on the road to Lothering: Queen Moira was dead. Murdered, during the night, by some banns who came under the guise of supporting her, but then betrayed and murdered her, along with her young son. And her body was on display in Lothering, only no one had actually seen the body of the prince."

"That's because he wasn't dead," Rhianna interjected. "He was back at your camp. Oh . . . but I bet the Orlesians knew he wasn't really dead, didn't they?"

"Indeed they did. And, well, I was quite a bit more clever in my youth than I am now, so I was able to add things up, and figure out that 'Hiram' was really the prince."

"But that was good news! Of all the people in the world he could have stumbled into, he found you. Someone who could help him, especially now his mother was dead."

"Good news? No. It was just about the worst news I could have imagined. The last thing we needed - my father, and I, and all the people who trusted my father to guide them - the last thing we needed was for the Orlesians to have a reason to come looking in the valley where we'd made our camp."

"Oh." A crease formed across her brow. "Oh. Yes, I can see that might have been . . . bad. Was it bad?"

"Yes," he murmured. "It was . . . very bad. I went back to camp, and told my father what I'd heard and what I believed, and Maric didn't try to deny it. To his credit, he suggested we hand him over to the Orlesians. To protect ourselves, so they wouldn't retaliate against us. And I thought that sounded like a fine idea, but my father would have none of it. Instead, he got down on one knee and swore his fealty to the 'rightful king.' And Maric knighted him. On the spot. The first time Maric had ever done a thing like that."

"Your father was a knight? Why doesn't Anora tell people that, when they say her grandparents were commoners?"

"I don't know. I think mostly, she wants to prove to everyone she deserves their respect without needing to resort back to some family connection."

"She's done a good job of that," Rhianna said. "I mean, I never knew your father was a knight, and I think she's one of the most gracious, noblest people in all of Denerim."

"I expect she would be honored to hear that. Especially from you."

"So what happened next? After Prince Maric knighted your father?"

"You're good at guessing the end of stories. What do you think happened?"

"The Orlesians found your camp. And attacked."

"That's exactly what did happen. We'd tried to pack up and move, but we ran out of time. My father made me swear I would defend the prince, that I would do whatever it took to get him away from the camp, and to safety - whatever that meant. Nowhere in Ferelden was safe for a Theirin or his allies at that time. But I swore it, nonetheless. For my father's sake. Not for Maric's. I . . . despised Maric. He'd lied to us, and he'd brought the Orlesians to our doorstep, and I wanted nothing to do with any rebellion. I just wanted to survive the coming winter, with my father at my side."

Rhianna looked like she was about to say something, but then changed her mind, and instead waited for him to continue.

"So, I swore to defend the prince, and my father said he'd buy us the time we needed to get away from the camp, and out into the Korcari Wilds."

"The Wilds? But they're horrible! Witches and monsters and demons, and how could your father think you'd be safe there?"

"At that moment? Witches and monsters and demons sounded better than Orlesians. And, since the Orlesians had heard all those tales themselves, it was unlikely they'd follow us into the forest."

"What happened to your father?"

"He charged the Orlesians, with as many warriors as had stayed at his side. Which was most of them; he inspired a great deal of loyalty. And Maric and I escaped in the other direction. The last time I saw my father, he was swinging his sword high above his head, and I heard his battle cry ring out across the valley."

Loghain looked out over the water, but he wasn't seeing the waves. He was seeing the battlefield of that day, so long ago. His father fighting, and then, the cry silenced as the Orlesians cut him down.

"Did they kill him?"

"Yes. They killed him. But his sacrifice gave Maric and I time to get away. We did escape into the Wilds, and as much as I wanted to hate him, I found I could not. He was idiotic in so many ways, but also ridiculously charming. He chattered all the time, and I thought it would drive me mad. But then he fell ill, and I found I missed the chatter, and wished for nothing more than for him to recover. That's when we started to become friends. Out, alone together in the Wilds. Not right away, of course. I spent rather a lot of time resenting him, and blaming him for my father's death. But eventually, I came to appreciate him. It wasn't his fault, after all, that he was the prince."

Somehow, that seemed like an awkward place to end the story, but what else was there to say? He _had_ tried to hate Maric. He honestly had. Not just at the beginning, but later on as well. When everything fell to pieces in Gwaren. And later still, after Rowan's death. But it had been impossible.

Maric was his best friend. Had been for so many years. It wasn't possible that he was just . . . gone. That Loghain would never see his face again, or hear his voice. Maric was alive. He had to be.

"You'll find him," Rhianna whispered. "I know you will." She moved close to him again, wrapping her arms around his waist and curling herself up against him. Surprised, he did nothing for a moment, but then he put an arm around her shoulders, allowing himself to return her embrace.

They sat like that for a long while, watching the waves break on the beach far below, listening to the cries of the gulls. Thin, patchy clouds drifted overhead, and the wind whispered and moaned through the old Tevinter ruins, and the puppy growled softly in his sleep. Loghain imagined he could feel Rhianna's heart beating against him, or perhaps it was only the echo of his own heartbeat he felt, reflected off her body. He looked out over the sea. Tomorrow, he'd sail past this very spot on his way into the Amaranthine Ocean with nothing more than instinct and desperation to guide him. But none of that would do him any good if it were already too late. If Maric . . .

No. He wouldn't think about that. Not now. Not today. He would allow himself to enjoy this day, enjoy Rhianna's company, without thoughts of the future or worries or regrets.

"It looks as though there's a path leading down to the beach," he said after a while. "Perhaps you'd care to walk by the water?"

"Yes, let's," she agreed, and together they packed up the remains of the picnic, and made their way down to the thin strip of sand. They spoke of insignificant, random things. How unusually late the snows had come this year, and how to tell all the different species of gulls apart from one another. What the Tevinters who built the ruins might have done for a living all the way out here, away from the city, and how tall Dane was likely to be when he was fully grown. Rhianna collected a few pretty shells, tucking them carefully into a pocket, and scolded Dane for chasing after the shorebirds.

As she stood, squinting out at the sea, her hair blowing behind her in the wind, Loghain worked to fix an image of her in his mind. He would never again see her like this; by the time he returned, after Maker knows how long, she'd be older. Taller. The shape of her face would change, her hair would be longer, or perhaps she'd decide to cut it all off.

This was ridiculous. He'd often gone months without seeing her. But somehow, this time it felt different. Not knowing just how long it would be. Or, depending on what happened at sea, if he would ever make it back to see her again. If only he could bring her with him on this voyage. He couldn't, though. He just couldn't. No matter how much they both wished he could.

No. He would return, and he'd bring Maric back with him, and everything would be all right again. The three of them would ride out in the country as they'd done in the past, and Maric would tell jokes at Loghain's expense, and Rhianna would laugh, and then turn the tables on Maric before Loghain even had a chance to defend himself. And then she would tell them they were both ridiculous, and Maric would pout, and everything would be perfect.

•o•

When the sun was halfway to the horizon, they decided it was time to ride for home. When they entered the canyon, it was nothing but shadows now the sun had dipped lower in the sky, and the horses' hooves echoed off the walls, making it rather more disquieting than it had been earlier in the day.

There was more to it than just the shadows, however. Something felt . . . off about this place, in a way it hadn't before, but he wasn't sure exactly what was different. Hopefully there wasn't some beast living here: a bear, or a mountain lion. Something that slept the day away in its lair, but came out to hunt at the onset of evening. Of course, with Rhianna along, surely no animals would trouble them.

As they entered a particularly narrow part of the canyon, Rhianna pulled Faolan to a halt. "Teyrn Loghain, wait. Don't go any further, all right?" She dismounted and walked a few paces in front of the horses before she bent down to examine something on the ground.

"What is it?" Loghain asked, torn between looking down to see what she was doing, and feeling compelled to look at their surroundings, watching for any sort of threat that might be lurking just out of sight.

"I don't know. There's a wire here, strung across the path. I think . . . well, I think it might be a tripwire. For some sort of a trap?"

A tripwire. That had most assuredly not been there earlier in the day. "Step back away from it," he urged, sliding off his horse, and unsheathing his sword.

Rhianna stood and moved away from the wire, but Dane, startled by the sound of Loghain's sword sliding from its sheath, jumped sideways, bumping into the wire.

Rumbling sounded overhead, quiet at first and then louder, as rocks began to fall from up above.

"Rhianna! MOVE!" Loghain shouted, running toward her. He wouldn't be able to reach her in time, but he couldn't stop himself from trying. Fortunately, her excellent reflexes kicked in, and as rocks began to hit the floor of the canyon, Rhianna grabbed Dane and flung herself to one side. She rolled out of the way of the rock fall, with Dane tucked tight in her arms. With a sound like thunder, deafeningly loud, a flurry of rocks and small boulders crashed to the ground where Rhianna had stood only seconds before.

Displeased by the noise, Faolan reared up on his hind legs, while Aeran pawed at the ground, but thankfully neither of the horses bolted. Rhianna looked dazed, but unharmed, as she sat up, her mouth hanging open and eyes wide at the sight of the deadly trap she'd so narrowly escaped.

Dane leapt from her arms, barking furiously. At first, it seemed he was expressing his displeasure at the rocks, but Loghain soon realized the puppy's focus was elsewhere.

He followed Dane's gaze to see three people approach from the deep shadows at the side of the canyon.

A woman in black leather armor, her blonde hair pulled back in a braid that hung down over her left shoulder, was the first to speak.

"Oh, what a pity," she crooned, with a heavy Orlesian accent. "I had hoped this would all be over quickly, but your pretty little companion apparently has very good eyes, and managed to avoid the little surprise we had set for you." She smiled. "She does seem a bit on the young side for a man of your age, Loghain Mac Tir, but I am not here to judge you for your assignations."

She knew his name. Which meant this was no random encounter.

Behind the woman stood a very tall, very broad man wearing heavy chain. He had dark skin, almost bronze in color, and horns growing back from his temples: a Qunari, a mercenary most likely, with a two-handed axe in his hands. Standing a few steps behind behind the other two, a man in mage's robes held his staff at the ready.

Maker's balls. Assassins. Sent by Celene no doubt.

Whatever else happened, he needed to keep Rhianna safe. He glanced at her, wishing there wasn't so much distance between them. She had gotten to her feet and drawn her dagger, the dagger he himself had given her. Dane had positioned himself between Rhianna and the Qunari. The dog was quiet, but the tension in his muscles made it clear he meant to attack at the first sign of a threat to his mistress.

Loghain addressed the armored woman. "I assume you've been sent by the empress?" he asked. The longer he could keep them talking, perhaps he could think of some way to get Rhianna out of danger.

"Yes. Empress Celene sends her warmest regards."

Interesting timing. This could hardly be a coincidence. Maric disappearing at sea, and now the first attempt on Loghain's life in more than three years. Damn it. How long had they been following him, looking for an opportunity to strike? And why in the name of the Black City had they chosen today, when Rhianna Cousland was with him? Did they know who she was? And if they didn't, was it better if he kept her identity secret? It was possible that the Cousland name might keep Rhianna safe. It was also possible it might warrant a death sentence.

"I'm rather offended," Loghain replied, "Celene didn't come in person. I would have very much enjoyed the chance to 'speak' with her, face-to-face."

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," the woman purred. "You Fereldans are quite famous for your hospitality. Which, of course, is part of the reason we are here. The Empress would dearly love to be able to enjoy the same Fereldan hospitality her uncle, Florian, enjoyed not so many years ago."

"Over my dead body." Loghain's tone was calm, his expression neutral. No need for them to see he was anxious about this, for Rhianna's sake.

"Yes, well, that is the idea," the woman said pleasantly.

"Let the girl go," he said. "Just let her get on her horse, and ride away. Then I'll let you do what you came here to do." Well, of course that last part was a lie. He no intention of being taken down without a fight.

"Who is she?"

Did they really not know? And just how long had they been following him?

"No one of consequence."

"Why do I not believe you? From what I have heard, you are not the sort of man to ravish young girls. But why else would you bring her all the way out here, in the middle of nowhere? Perhaps she is someone of consequence, after all." Keeping her eyes on Loghain, she turned her head to the side and called to the mage, "Torolf, make certain the girl stays out of the way. If the teyrn has an interest in this lovely little flower, perhaps the empress will be interested as well."

The mage lifted his staff, preparing to cast. Clearly, the time for talking was at an end.

Loghain charged at the woman in leathers, and she reacted a moment too late to avoid his blade, but unfortunately the blow was mostly deflected by her armor. With his peripheral vision, he saw the Qunari raise his axe, and knew he had to get out of the way, but also needed to do something to stop the damned mage.

As Loghain jumped out of the way of the great axe, and out of reach of the woman's twin daggers, he saw Aeran take off running . . . directly at the mage. The horse ran full force, but before he could attack, a bolt of yellow and pink light spun through the air toward Rhianna. She was knocked backwards, off her feet and into the canyon wall behind her. A moment later, Aeran rammed the mage with his head, and knocked him to the ground.

Rhianna lay still on the ground, but before Loghain could think of a way to help her, the Qunari's axe came at him again.

Loghain dodged to avoid the swing of the axe, then attacked the Qunari's side, left undefended by the attack. Loghain's blow landed solidly, but he feared little damage had been done. Not only was the warrior's armor of good quality, but the man was massive and well-muscled, easily a foot taller than Loghain himself.

From behind, Loghain sensed the assassin's approach. He swiped at her with his sword, outreaching her daggers, and managing to slice into one of her arms. The dagger fell from her hand, dropping into the dirt. Any satisfaction Loghain might have felt, though, evaporated when he realized an instant too late the great axe was coming at him again. Leaping backwards, he avoided the worst of the blow, but it still tore through his shirt, and grazed the flesh underneath. Pain exploded in his chest, and he struggled to keep from stumbling.

Before he could recover from the blow, the woman began another attack, one Loghain had no hope of parrying. From behind him, a blur of tan-colored fur flew through the air, as Dane leapt on the woman, aiming for her throat. She put up an arm to block him, and instead of her throat, he sank his teeth into the vambrace covering her forearm. Grabbing the dog by the scruff of the neck, she pulled him off of her arm. With an Orlesian curse on her lips, she tossed the puppy into the air, then kicked him to one side. A pained yelp, and then Dane, too, lay on the ground, motionless.

Loghain bent his knees and gave a deafening cry that echoed off of the canyon walls. Before the woman could respond, Loghain raised his sword and brought it down on her neck. Not a smooth blow, it sliced only halfway through her neck, failing to decapitate her completely, and Loghain's sword lodged itself in the collar edge of her cuirass. He tugged at the sword, trying to free it, but it held fast.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Qunari's bulk approaching, great axe raised high above his head. Abandoning the sword, Loghain pulled a dagger from his boot and bent to pick up one of the daggers the rogue had wielded. Fighting with a pair of daggers was certainly not his specialty, but it gave him a better chance than having no weapon at all.

Loghain dodged the blow from the Qunari, and glanced at Rhianna. She didn't appear to have moved at all. Please let it have been merely a paralysis spell, something that would wear off in time. After all, the rogue had said to 'make certain she stays out of the way,' rather than ordering the mage to kill.

Except the mage was surely dead, trampled under Aeran's hooves. Loghain's stomach lurched. The spell should have lifted by now.

The Qunari's great axe sped toward Loghain again, driving all other thoughts from his mind. When he leapt backward, he felt wind on his face in the wake of the blade's passing. He just needed identify the most likely place to stick one of his daggers. Into the Qunari's neck, perhaps. It was the only place where the armor wasn't providing more protection than a dagger could breach. And, he needed to stay away from that axe. The wound in his chest was bad enough, causing pain that made it difficult to take a deep breath. He'd likely not survive another.

Whatever he was going to do, though, he needed to do it now. He needed to see to Rhianna. And to the dog. Assuming either of them were still alive.

He dodged another swing, maintaining some distance between himself and his opponent. He would have to move closer eventually, though; these daggers had a ridiculously short reach.

The Qunari whirled around, lifting the axe for another swing. Stepping backwards to avoid the blow, Loghain's foot caught on something - a rock, perhaps - and he stumbled, falling backwards onto his arse. A satisfied smile crossed the Qunari's lips. The huge man adjusted his stance, intending to take advantage of Loghain's fatal mistake.

As the Qunari pulled back his arms, something flew through the air, and sank into the flesh of the man's neck. A dagger. Rhianna's dagger. Loghain looked to see Rhianna on her feet, one shoulder leaning against the wall of the canyon.

Thank the Maker. She was alive. And had apparently been practicing throwing daggers of late.

The Qunari growled, distracted from attacking Loghain long enough to pull the dagger from his neck and toss it aside. Blood oozed out of the wound, but it didn't look serious enough to hamper the man's ability to fight.

Then, from the right, something huge rushed by in a dark blur. Aeran, long finished with the mage, had decided to charge. The Qunari, his attention again focused on Loghain, was taken completely by surprise. Using his broad forehead as a battering ram, Aeran knocked the huge man down onto his knees.

Loghain sprang to his feet. Grabbing the man by the hair, Loghain pulled a dagger across the Qunari's throat. Blood spurted from the wound, and the man slumped face down into the dirt.

All three assassins were dead. Well and truly dead.

Loghain ran to Rhianna's side, past Faolan, who stood beside her, clearly ready to defend the girl had the need arisen. Rhianna leaned against the wall for support, but didn't have any apparent injuries.

"Are you hurt?" Loghain asked, grasping her shoulders, and looking her up and down.

"No, not really. I . . . " She put a hand to the back of her head. "Well, my head hurts, but I think it will be all right."

"Let me see." He pushed her hand away and felt gently with his fingers. A lump was beginning to form, but there was no blood. Lumps were good; injuries expanding outward couldn't damage the brain. For the first time in several minutes, the nausea he was feeling began to subside. She was fine. Rhianna would be fine.

She put a hand on his chest, as if to steady herself, then quickly pulled away. She looked down at her palm, which was now slick with blood.

"Blessed Andraste!" she gasped. "You're injured!"

And indeed, he was. The Qunari's axe had made an unpleasantly large gash in his chest, one he was now beginning to feel much more acutely than before.

"I'll be fine, Rhianna. It looks like a lot of blood, but it's nothing life-threatening. I've got poultices in my saddlebag, and we'll see Maric's healer when we get back to the city."

She looked around. "Where's Dane?"

Maker's balls. In his concern for Rhianna, he'd forgotten about the puppy. Before he could answer, Rhianna spotted the dog lying motionless on the ground. With a sob, she ran to him, kneeling at his side. When she lifted him carefully, Dane whimpered softly. Cradling the puppy in her arms, Rhianna felt gently with her fingers for injuries. Dane whimpered again.

"I think some of his ribs are broken." She turned to look at Loghain. "What happened to him? I don't remember everything. I think . . . I must have lost a few minutes after the spell hit me."

"Dane attacked the woman, while trying to defend me. She . . . kicked him." Maker damn those assassins and the Orlesian harlot who sent them. His hands clenched into fists, and he had to force himself to relax. "Let's get a poultice on him. It won't heal the bones, but it will ease the pain for the ride back to Denerim. Jocelyn can see to him, as well."

Still holding the puppy, Rhianna stood, swaying for a moment as she got to her feet. She reached for Loghain, grabbing his arm to steady herself.

"Rhianna?" Perhaps her injury was more serious than he had thought. "Are you all right?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, running her hand over the back of her head. "I'm all right. I'm just dizzy."

"We'll have to figure out a way to get a poultice on that bump, as well."

"No, I don't need a poultice. It's just a bit sore; nothing I can't manage. Our first priority is that wound on your chest. From the axe, I assume?"

"Yes." Supporting one another as they walked, they crossed over to Aeran, and Loghain pulled poultices and bandages from his pack.

"What sort of man was that, anyway? Was he one of the Qunari?"

"Yes. Well, I assume so. He was a kossith, and most of them follow the Qun. Although as it seemed he was most recently a mercenary in Empress Celene's service, it's possible he left the Qunari faith and became what they call Tal'Vashoth, one who has rejected the religion. Either way, he's dead now, and with his god, or not."

Rhianna insisted on tending to Loghain's wound first, which was probably for the best; it had bled rather a lot and he was feeling slightly light-headed. She cleaned away as much of the blood as she could, then, with a gentle touch, rubbed healing salve into the wound before covering it with bandages. Almost immediately, the pain lessened, as the edges of the wound began to knit themselves back together. It would still need to be seen to by the healer, but the bleeding was stopped, and Loghain could take a breath without pain shooting through his chest.

Next, they did the same with Dane: rubbing salve into his chest, and then wrapping a poultice firmly around his small body. Rhianna's injury was the most difficult to deal with; trying to wrap a bandage around her head would have been awkward, so Loghain applied some salve to the bump, and left it at that. Finally, they created a makeshift carrier for Dane, using the lunch basket, and Loghain's cloak to provide padding.

By the time they finished, it was nearly dark at the bottom of the canyon, although they should still have enough daylight to get back to Denerim once they emerged from between the canyon's steep walls. As they prepared to mount the horses, Rhianna turned to him.

"Were they really assassins sent by the Orlesian Empress?" Rhianna asked.

"Yes."

She stared at him, her eyes narrowed. "That's quite . . . a spectacular event. And yet, you don't seem surprised. This isn't the first time the Orlesians have tried to murder you, is it?"

"No," he admitted.

When he didn't elaborate on that answer, her eyes flashed. "And just how often does this happen?"

"For a while, right after the end of the Occupation, it was a rather common occurrence. Two or three times a year someone would make an attempt. On me, sometimes on Maric as well. But these attempts lessened over the years."

"When was the last time? Before today, I mean."

"It had been several years. More than three, anyway. To be honest, I'd assumed they had given up."

"Apparently not." Her tone was sharp. She was angry. He could hardly blame her for that; she might have been killed. They all might have been killed. But her next words surprised him. "Two or three attempts a year? For how many years? That sounds like they've been quite committed to trying to kill you. And you had the nerve to tell me it's safe for you to go into Orlais?"

She was angry, but not with their attackers. Maker's balls.

She was angry with Loghain himself.

"Rhianna . . . " He reached for her, wanting to put a hand on her arm to comfort her, but she pulled away.

"Don't 'Rhianna' me. I'm serious. How can you tell me it's safe for you to go there?" He'd never seen her like this before. He'd seen her angry, of course, but this was the first time her anger had been directed at him. "When I said those things earlier, I was mostly joking. No, I didn't think it was particularly safe for you to go to Orlais, but I had no idea the empress has been actively trying to kill you. For years. But you knew. You've known all along! How dare you tell me everything will be fine, when you know damned well you're walking into a death trap?"

"Rhianna . . ." he tried again.

"No! You can't go there! You can't go to Jader, nor anywhere else in that Maker-damned country. It's bad enough they've tried to kill you here; it will be ten times as dangerous there. Although I expect they'll be very grateful, you saving them the trouble of having to travel. Won't that be a comfort, when you're dead? Perhaps they'll take extra care with your head as they're sticking it on a pike in front of the gates of Val Royeaux. And what if this is related to Maric's disappearance? The timing seems awfully convenient. They're probably willing to do whatever it takes, make the extra effort, to get rid of you, too."

He did, in fact, agree. The timing did not seem random. But he wasn't sure it would be wise for him to admit it.

"Rhianna, please. We need to get back on the road. Get to the palace and see the healer." He reached for her again, hoping this time she wouldn't pull away. She flinched, slightly, but allowed him to put his hands on her shoulders. "I promise you, I have no intention of dying on this trip. I want to find Maric, and bring him home. Bring both of us home safely. I will take every possible precaution, but to be honest, I'll be safer in Orlais than I am here. In Ferelden, I'm a sitting target. I expect those assassins had been watching me at their leisure, waiting for a good opportunity to strike. But when I'm at sea, the empress will have no way of knowing exactly where I'll be traveling, or when I'll arrive at any given location. As long as I don't spend too much time in any one place, she won't have the opportunity to send assassins. I'm not just saying this to make you feel better. I'm saying it because it's the truth."

She studied his face, then turned away from him, pulling herself from his grasp. She tugged at the straps on Faolan's saddle, as if adjusting them, but Loghain knew she was just making busy work for her hands.

"Rhianna. Please. Please tell me you understand."

"Yes, I understand." Her voice shook, just slightly, and she kept her back turned to him. "And I suppose what you're saying makes sense. I just . . . I can't bear the thought of anything bad happening to you."

He stepped in front of her, taking her chin in his hand so he could look into her eyes. They were shining in the dusky canyon light. "Nothing bad will happen to me, Rhianna. I promise. Think about it - with as many assassins as Celene has sent, if any of them were going to succeed, don't you think I'd be dead by now?"

"Perhaps." She blinked, her lower lip quivering slightly, and he saw that she was near tears.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her close in spite of the pain it sent through his injured chest. "I will come home safely, Rhianna. I swear it," he whispered into her ear. "I have to do this, for Maric, but I will come home. To you." Finally, she wrapped her arms around his waist. Her shoulders shook as she began to cry, pressing her face against his shoulder. He pulled her closer and stroked her hair, making sure to avoid the spot where she'd been injured.

When her tears were spent, she pulled away. Not completely; just enough to look into his eyes.

"All right, I believe you. You'd better be right about it, though," she added. "Because if something bad does happen . . . I'll come after you myself. And you don't want to see me when I'm really angry." She rolled her eyes and laughed, a self-deprecating sound that turned into a sob. "I'm sorry. I'm just scared, that's all."

"So am I," he admitted.

She reached up to touch his face and, finally, she smiled. Not the happiest of smiles, but at least she was no longer angry with him. Thankfully. He'd hated the way it felt, knowing she was angry with him.

"Do we have to tell my parents about this? You know, how we were almost killed by assassins?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"That is unfortunate. I expect they won't be happy."

That was putting it mildly. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't keep the fact of the attempt a secret, nor the time and the place, and Bryce and Eleanor were certainly going to realize their daughter had been with him when it happened.

"No, I expect they won't. We'll just . . . well, I don't know what we'll do," he admitted. "None of us were badly injured. So hopefully they'll . . . well, hopefully . . ."

He didn't know how to finish that sentence. Hopefully they wouldn't be _too_ upset? Of course they would be upset. Their daughter could have been killed. Hopefully they wouldn't come after Loghain themselves, for putting their daughter in danger? Hopefully they wouldn't curse the day Rhianna had met the infamous Loghain Mac Tir?

"Hopefully they won't decide I can't see you anymore after this," Rhianna finished for him.

Yes. That was what it boiled down to in the end, wasn't it?

"Well, as I'm leaving tomorrow, that won't become an issue right away. Perhaps by the time I get back from sea, they'll have forgotten."

The look Rhianna gave him made it clear she did not believe her parents would ever forget, even if he were gone a hundred years. She didn't say this, however, and after a moment she shook her head. Then her face broke into a somewhat crooked smile.

"Perhaps they will."

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_A HUGE thank-you to my marvelous beta, Psyche-Sinclair, and to all my lovely reviewers: Doom-N-GloomGal, KrystylSky, Milly-finalfantasy, Shadowfang, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and Umm. _

_And a special shout-out to Umm, who made the 100th review to my story! Which, to be honest, amazes and thrills and humbles me all at the same time. I wasn't sure anyone would ever want to read my story, and to know that so many of you are out there, reading and enjoying it, means the world to me. So, thank you - to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review! _

_Note: If the location Loghain and Rhianna visit seems familiar, that's because it's the same place where Leliana confronts Marjolaine in "Leliana's Song." _


	33. Something that would remind you of home

_**10 Firstfall, 9:25 Dragon  
Denerim Waterfront**_

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Just before noon, Rhianna and Fergus arrived at the dock. Rhianna gave a quick thank you to the Maker when she saw the gangplank was down, and workers were still hauling crates and barrels and baskets of supplies onto the ship. It wasn't too late to see Loghain one last time before he left.

The previous evening, the ride home took even longer than the outbound journey, as they rode the horses at a slow, steady pace, to avoid jostling the wounded mabari. Faolan tried to be as gentle as possible with both his passengers, and Dane was stoic about his injury, not complaining at all, and only whimpering when Faolan crossed over uneven ground. Loghain said Dane was injured defending Loghain from one of the empress' wretched assassins, and Rhianna was proud of her hound. More than that, she was very, very relieved his injury wasn't really serious. That none of their injuries had been serious.

They reached Denerim just before dark. As soon as they arrived at the palace, Loghain sent a messenger to the Highever estate. By the time her father arrived, his eyes wild and frantic, he was in something close to a panic about Loghain's message that there had been "trouble." Rhianna needed several minutes to assure him she really was all right, and yes, they'd been attacked but everyone was fine now.

She neglected to mention the injury Dane had sustained, and by this time Jocelyn had healed not only the hound's broken ribs (Loghain and Rhianna both insisted Dane be the first to receive treatment), but also the bump on Rhianna's head and the gash in Loghain's chest. So, Rhianna had downplayed the whole incident, saying it really wasn't that scary, and how sad the Orlesians had such lackluster assassins.

Her father hadn't been amused. And he was even less amused when he saw the bloodstained hole in Loghain's shirt, which rather put the lie to Rhianna's story no one had been seriously injured. Then, before she'd had the chance to tell Loghain a proper goodbye, her father whisked her and Dane back home.

So this morning, she had begged and pleaded to be allowed to go to the ship and see Loghain off on his voyage. After much cajoling (but no actual tears; thankfully, she didn't have to resort to that), her father had agreed, but only on the condition Fergus accompany her. Probably, her father was worried she might try to stow away on the ship.

Which was ridiculous. The thought had crossed her mind many times, but if she had intended to do that, she wouldn't have asked permission to see the ship off. She would have just snuck away without telling anyone where she was going.

Now, leaving Fergus behind, she scampered up the gangway, stepping lightly out of the way of dockworkers carrying a large wooden crate. Once onboard, she approached someone who looked like a soldier, rather than a sailor.

"Excuse me, can you tell me if Teyrn Loghain has boarded yet?"

"Och, aye," the man said agreeably, and pointed aft. Following his arm with her gaze, she saw Loghain standing on the quarterdeck, looking out into the harbor. Unbidden, a smile came to her face.

She thanked the man, and then made her way toward the back of the ship. On the quarterdeck, she didn't speak; she just walked up beside him and leaned her arms on the ship's railings, in imitation of the way he was standing.

He didn't shift his position, or turn his head, or even glance in her direction.

"It's about time. I was starting to think we would set sail before you managed to drag yourself out of bed."

"Oh, I dragged myself out of bed quite some time ago. But it took rather a lot of effort to convince Father I should be allowed to leave the house."

"I see." He turned to face her, leaning one arm on the rail. His eyes narrowed, forming a crease in his brow. "Where are your things? Surely, you don't intend to stow away with nothing but the clothes on your back."

"Well, I couldn't very well bring my bag with me, could I? Someone would have noticed. So I snuck out my window last night, and hid my things below deck well before the sun rose this morning."

Loghain chuckled, his blue eyes wrinkling slightly at the corners. When he smiled like that, he really was the handsomest man she had ever known. Feeling warmth bloom across her cheeks, she turned to look out over the water, hoping Loghain hadn't noticed her start to blush.

"I do wish I could come with you," she murmured, glancing over her shoulder to see Fergus finally climbing the steps up to the quarterdeck. "But as you can see, there's no chance of that. Father insisted I bring a watchdog to make sure I don't 'accidentally' forget to disembark before you set sail."

"Hello, Loghain," Fergus said cheerfully.

"Fergus." Loghain inclined his head briefly.

Rhianna's brother looked up at the sails. "Lateen-rigged," he said. She'll be fast, then. And I expect she's shallow enough in the keel you'll be able to take her close into shore. Which will come in handy for your search."

Loghain turned his gaze to Fergus. "The captain would be the one to talk to about such things. I'm still trying to keep straight which side is starboard and which is port." He glanced at Rhianna and winked.

A woman crossed the deck to join them, wearing boots and trousers and a long-sleeved blouse. She was short, only an inch or two taller than Rhianna, with closely cropped blonde hair under her leather cap, and skin wrinkled from so many hours in the wind and the sun.

"Captain Rackham," Loghain said in greeting. Turning to Rhianna, he added, "Rhianna, Fergus, this is Captain Jenny Rackham. The _Angharad_ is her ship. Captain, I'd like you to meet Lady Rhianna and Lord Fergus Cousland."

"Ah, so these are the children of the Teyrn of Highever." She gave them a wide smile. "That's a shame. I heard the lad talking about the rigging, and I thought perhaps we could convince him to join the crew."

"Don't tempt me," Fergus laughed. "I'll admit the idea of a voyage like this has rather a lot of appeal. There was a time when I seriously considered going to sea."

"There was a time when I seriously considered it as well," Rhianna grinned. "This morning, in fact. Captain Rackham, I know at least as much about the rigging as my brother does. Well, except I wouldn't run with lateen sails for speed. I'd use those for maneuverability and sailing close to the wind. I assume you have square, Amaranthine-type sails for speed. And for the record, I can climb twice as fast as Fergus, up any part of this ship. So, if it's crew you need, I'm the one you want."

At this, the captain gave a loud, barking laugh. "Maker's breath. You're serious, aren't you?" She raised an eyebrow. "Let me see your hands." Obediently, Rhianna held them out for the captain's inspection. Captain Rackham took one of Rhianna's hands in her own, rubbing her thumbs across the palms.

"Calluses," the captain mused aloud, "but not from sailing. I'll wager they're from sword fighting, if I had to guess. But you're clearly not afraid to use your hands to do honest work." She grinned at Fergus. "How much trouble would I be in with your father were I to conscript her?"

"Rather a lot, I'm afraid," Fergus said. "That's the reason I came along this morning. Father feared she would try and stow away if someone wasn't here to make sure she made it back home again."

"It's not fair," Rhianna said, pretending to pout. Only pretending, though. As disappointed as she was about not being allowed to come on the voyage, she certainly had no call to be surly with her three current companions. "If I were your age," she said to Fergus, "Father couldn't stop me from coming along."

"And just why is it you're so eager to come?" the captain asked. "This isn't likely to be an easy voyage, and surely, Teyrn Loghain has told you he has no idea how long we'll be gone."

"I want to help find the king. He and I have been friends for a long time." She decided not to add she was also terrified of Loghain sailing off without her, never to return, just as King Maric had done.

And she certainly wasn't going to admit she'd go just about anywhere if it meant she could be with Loghain Mac Tir.

"An admirable desire," Captain Rackham agreed. "But I'm afraid I can't risk your father's wrath. If you're still interested in a career as a sailor a few years from now, come back and see me. You're right about the Amaranthine sails; we'll run those up as soon as we're out of the harbor." She turned to Loghain. "I just wanted to let you know we've finished loading the supplies. I plan to set sail in about fifteen minutes, assuming that meets your approval."

"Yes," he agreed. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

The captain bowed, and walked away.

"Elsie," Fergus turned to her, "I think I'll go wait on the dock. But you've got to promise you will get off this ship before she pulls away."

"I promise," she said, giving him her most charming smile.

Fergus chuckled and shook his head. Then, he turned to Loghain. "Safe travels, ser," he said, offering Loghain his arm.

"Thank you," Loghain replied, grasping Fergus' hand.

After Fergus walked away, Rhianna leaned against the railing, looking out at the sea. Loghain did the same, and for a minute, they just stood side by side, not speaking. She glanced up at him, moving only her eyes, not her head, and looked at his profile. His eyes shifted in her direction, and he caught her watching him, so she quickly looked away, fighting back a smile. A few seconds later, she glanced back up at him, and found his eyes were still upon her, but this time, he looked away, as if embarrassed he'd been caught staring. She forced herself to wait for the space of three breaths, and then she peeked at him again, and a moment later he caught her eye, and she burst out laughing.

She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small wooden box. "I have something for you." She held it out to him, and he took it from her hand, a slight frown on his face. "I meant to give it to you yesterday, but things got a bit out of hand and I never had the chance. It's . . . well, it's . . . just open it, all right?" she said, feeling nervous. When she had seen it for sale in the Wonders of Thedas, it had seemed perfect, but now she wondered if it wasn't a bit silly. Still, it was too late to take it back now.

He pulled off the lid, and took out what he found inside. It was a pendant, strung on a length of black leather cord. Made of silver, it was in the shape of a turtle, with an Alamarri knotwork design woven into the shell.

"It's a turtle," she explained. "Well, obviously you can see it's a turtle. But I got it as a sort of good luck charm. Turtles are for protection, and patience, and I thought you might need both on this journey. Also, since they live in a shell, they take their home with them wherever they go. Considering you're going to be living on this ship, for maybe a long time, I thought it might be nice for you to have something that would remind you of home."

He turned it over, and read the words she'd had engraved on the back:

_"Be safe. Love, Rhianna" _

She watched his face, as the faint smile he'd been wearing slipped away.

Oh. He hated it. It was stupid, and he hated it. Surely, it was the worst gift he had ever received. What had she been thinking? Giving him a stupid pendant. She should have found something useful, a spyglass perhaps. He'd thought the snow globes were silly, after all. Surely, he would feel the same about a stupid pendant. Heat pooled behind her eyes, as tears threatened. She'd be so embarrassed if he hated it, and even more embarrassed if she started to cry.

He turned the pendant around in his hand for another moment, and then he looked down at her, still not smiling. She blinked up at him, standing as still as possible, holding her breath, waiting for him to say something, anything.

Then he held out his hand, as if he wanted her to take the pendant from him. "Tie it on for me? Please." He faced away from her and knelt on one knee, one hand on the rail to steady himself, while he pulled back the hair from his neck with the other. "Make sure the knot will hold."

Her hands shook as she did as he asked, slipping the pendant around his neck, making sure the side with the knotwork faced out, and then adjusting it to the proper length. Finally, she tied a secure knot in the cord.

He stood, and looked down at her, still not smiling.

"Thank you, Rhianna. It's . . . beautiful. Possibly the loveliest thing anyone has ever given me. I promise not to remove it, not even for a minute, during the whole of this voyage." He paused. "Thank you."

Her face grew warm again, this time at his praise. He really did like it, after all. Finally, she allowed herself to relax.

"You're welcome."

"As it so happens, I have something for you, as well." He reached a hand into the pocket inside of his cloak, and pulled out a parcel wrapped in parchment and tied with a string. "Nothing nearly as lovely as the pendant. But I hope you will enjoy it, nonetheless."

"A gift for me?" She felt her nose wrinkle in surprise. "But how did you even know I would be here? That I'd come to the ship this morning?"

"I didn't know for certain. But I . . . suspected you would try. And you are a very persuasive young woman, so I thought there was a good chance, in the end, you would convince your father to let you come."

Now, he smiled, just a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, but Rhianna couldn't stop the grin from spreading across her face. He offered the package to her, and she took it, untying the string. Inside was a book, bound in leather with a floral pattern embossed on the front cover in gold.

"I know how much you like stories," he began, "but since I won't be able to tell you any while I'm away, I thought at least this way you could have some new ones to read. I hope you don't have this book already. It's very similar to one I had when I was young. Not quite your age; I was a bit younger than you are now when I read them. But I hope you'll enjoy them even so. They're Alamarri folk tales and legends, the kind of stories I always liked best when I was young."

Rhianna opened the cover, and turned to the title page. On the bottom half of the page, was an inscription:

_Rhianna, _

_Take care while I am away._

_LMT_

For the third time in barely as many minutes, she felt her face grow hot, so she quickly turned to the next page and busied herself reading the names of the stories. "The Haunted Mountain," and "The Fairy's Song." "The Dog Who Bit," and "The Lothering Farmer's Wife." These, and at least a dozen more.

"I know the story of the dog who bit; Nan used to tell it to me when I was small. But I don't think I've heard any of the others." She had a strange feeling inside, in her stomach, and in her chest. He'd thought about her enough to find something like this, just for her. And he'd gone to the trouble of writing an inscription.

"This is . . . very special, Teyrn Loghain," she said, hearing her voice tremble slightly. "I love it. And I'll read all of them. Over and over, most likely. Thank you." She blinked quickly to drive back the tears that were threatening. "I really do love it."

"You're welcome, Rhianna."

A boy, not much older than Rhianna, ran up to them then. "Pardon me, sers," he said, bowing, "but the captain says we're ready to pull up the gangplank and set sail. It's the lady's last chance to go ashore."

Rhianna peered out at the dock below, where Fergus stood, his arms crossed loosely in front of his chest. "Do you think he'd notice if I just stayed on board?" she asked, with a crooked smile.

"I suspect that he would."

"I'm going to miss you."

"I know. And I shall miss you, too. More, perhaps, than you know." He stretched his arms out, and she moved gratefully into his embrace, enjoying his warmth, and breathing in the scent of him, trying to burn this moment into her memory, not knowing how long she would need this memory to sustain her until he returned.

When they pulled apart, he offered her his arm. Slipping her arm through his, and clutching her book to her chest, they walked together to the main deck, and finally, it was time for her to go. Stretching up on her toes, she kissed him on the cheek.

He smiled, and ran his thumb across one of her cheeks, then leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"Be safe, Teryn Loghain," she said.

"And you as well, Rhianna."

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Thank you so much to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair, and also to my lovely reviewers: KrystylSky, Psyche Sinclair, Murdelizer, WardenVaer, Milly-finalfantasy, AstroMonkeh, and Arsinoe de Blassenville.


	34. Please forgive the unusual messenger

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_23 Firstfall, 9:25 Dragon_

_Teyrn Loghain, _

_Please forgive the unusual messenger, but I thought this would be the easiest way to get a letter to you while you're away at sea. Hopefully you weren't too surprised by the arrival of the gull, and figured out right away that I sent her. If you would like to send a reply, she'll be happy to wait and bring it back to me. But please don't feel obligated if it's not convenient for you to write just now. I plan to send another letter soon, so you could always give your reply to the next bird when she (or he) arrives. _

_Of course, you don't have to write to me at all, but I hope you will._

_I had intended to tell you all the interesting news I've heard about Ferelden, but we've only just returned from Denerim, so it turns out I don't have any interesting news about anything. Which makes this a rather boring letter (for which I apologize most sincerely). I'm sure something interesting will happen eventually, though, so my future letters should be somewhat more exciting. It's something to hope for, anyway. _

_Mother and Father are well. I would send their regards, except they don't know I'm writing. I still haven't told them, well, you know what, and I'm not ready to explain to them just how the letters are being delivered. So this will be a secret, too, for the time being at least. _

_None of my scouts have come back yet with news, but it's only been a couple of weeks. When they do return, you will be the first to know what they have to tell me. Have you found anything? Any word, or anyone who saw King Maric at all? Maybe it's too soon; I know you've only just started looking. _

_Please know I think about you every day, and say a prayer to Andraste every night for you and King Maric, for you both to return home to Ferelden safely, as soon as possible._

_I miss you already,_

_Rhianna_

_P.S. If you could manage a fish for the messenger, I'm sure she would appreciate it very much._

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28 Firstfall, 9:25 Dragon

Rhianna,

I was mildly surprised by the arrival of the bird, but as you suspected, it didn't take long for me to figure out why she had appeared. Thank you for your letter; it was most welcome. Being out on the open sea is quite dull. More than that, though, I was pleased to hear your news. Or relative lack thereof, but I can be patient until something interesting happens for you to report.

No sign yet of Maric, but I am not discouraged. We have only been searching a short time, and I am hopeful when we arrive in Jader, there might be some word of him. If Maric was shipwrecked and swam ashore, Jader would be a likely stop as he made his way back to Ferelden.

I do think you should tell your parents about your ability. Frankly, I find it hard to believe they haven't noticed already. It's nothing for you to be ashamed of, and it seems clear it's not magic. No one is going to pack you off to Kinloch Hold (I meant what I said to you the last time we went riding together. You don't need to fear being taken away to the Circle of Magi). I trust you, however, to decide when the time is right to reveal your secret. And you, of course, can trust me not to share it with anyone without your permission.

I will keep this letter short, for the sake of your feathered messenger, but will do as you suggested, and write a longer one to send with the next bird to arrive. And of course, fish will be provided.

Yours truly,

LMT

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_6 Haring, 9:25 Dragon_

_Dear Teyrn Loghain,_

_Thank you for your letter! I really wasn't sure the bird would manage to find you, and I'm so glad she did. You'll notice I'm using a different messenger this time. It hardly seems fair to ask the same bird to go searching again._

_The weather has finally turned cold, so Faolan and I haven't been out riding much. I have, however, managed to convince Ser Gilmore (do you remember him? He's the one with red hair who came from Starkhaven) to spar properly with me on the practice field. He would never genuinely hit me before, but I was able to take him down with that kick you taught me, and he landed rather hard on his backside. This seems to have convinced him he doesn't have to play nicely anymore, and he's more willing to really fight me, instead of just pretending while trying desperately not to hurt me. _

_This is a good thing, since Fergus hasn't agreed to spar with me in a while, possibly because I beat him nearly every time we fight. The first time I bested him, last year, I'm pretty sure he let me win. Since then, though, he has been trying to win, but I can beat him almost every time anyway. He's too predictable; he always makes the same attack, right in the center of my chest, and it's easy to dodge. Plus, he never changes his speed at all. He moves in and out and back and forth and I always know when his attack will arrive, because it's never any different. I tried telling him this, but he just glowered at me and now he doesn't like to spar anymore. _

_Although, to be fair, it might be because he is very busy these days. Oren turned one a few weeks ago, and started walking and is causing an uproar everywhere he goes. Funnily enough, people keep saying, "remember when Rhianna started walking?" and then everyone groans and makes horrified faces. I guess I must have been a bit of a terror at that age, and they seem to think he's taking after me in that regard. (Hard as that must be for you to believe, I'm sure, considering how lovely I am now. Ha ha). _

_Oh, and you might be interested to learn I delivered a calf a few days ago. The surgeon-farrier was seeing to some sick horses almost all the way to West Hill, and I happened to be at the smithy when a farmer came in to see if anyone in town could help with the calf, which was taking too long to come. Well, I really don't know much about such things, but I thought I could at least help calm the cow if she was scared. When I got to the farm, it wasn't difficult to figure out the baby was trying to come out backwards. So, with Laurella (she's the farmer) to help me, I reached inside and turned the calf around, so she could come out head first. After that the cow was able to manage mostly on her own. _

_There was a scary moment when we noticed the cord attaching the calf to her mother was broken (that's not supposed to happen until after the baby is born, right)? But nothing bad happened because of it, and the baby and mother are both doing well. Laurella was so grateful she tried to give me money, but that didn't seem right. I'm the teyrn's daughter; it's my responsibility to help people and cows and things. So, instead I asked her if I could name the calf, who is now called Widdershins._

_Apparently, I'm going to Denerim next week. I don't particularly want to go, but Lady Harriet is having a party for her sixtieth birthday and mother says we all have to attend, even Oriana and the Oren the Walking Terror. I suspect Lady Harriet will have all her cats dressed up in bonnets and parade them around the garden. (I'm not joking about this, either. She did that at least once before. Have you ever seen the cats in bonnets? I can't decide if it is the funniest thing I've ever seen, or the absolute worst). Then, we'll stay through First Day, meaning I'll be stuck in the city for at least a month. I will have Faolan, but I'm not sure I'll get to take him anywhere. I don't mind the snow, but Father was very clear I'm not to ride outside the city alone, especially after what happened right before you left on your voyage. And with you gone, I don't have anyone to ride with. I might try and convince someone else to go with me. Bann Teagan, maybe. He was very nice to me on the day of Anora's wedding. (Although I'd much rather go riding with you)._

_I'm trying to convince Father to let me enter the tournament in Highever next summer. I'm pretty sure he will agree to let me compete in archery, but I'm not sure about the melee. And I'd much rather compete in the melee. (I'm just not that good at archery. I know what you're going to say; it's because I don't practice enough. Which is true. But I like having my sword in my hand, and the dagger you gave me. Archery is fun, but it doesn't feel like real fighting). At any rate, Father keeps telling me I'm not old enough yet, and that Fergus never competed until he was sixteen, but I don't think it's a fair comparison. Fergus never __wanted__ to enter the tournament until he was sixteen, and even then, I think he did it just to please Father. At least Father isn't trying to argue against it because I'm a girl. (That's what Oriana says; she thinks I shouldn't be allowed to fight at all). But Father knows I'd probably do something ridiculous like dress up as a man and enter under a false name. (Which of course, I would never do. If I win, I'd want everyone to know it was me). _

_Well, I can't think of anything else interesting to tell you. Assuming the things I've already written are interesting, which is doubtful. Except the bit about Lady Harriet's cats. I imagine you found that utterly fascinating. Please try not to be too jealous that I will get to see them in their bonnets, and you will have to miss out on it because you're away at sea. Ha ha. _

_I hope this letter finds you well. Please let me know where you are, and what progress you have made in your search._

_Love,_

_Rhianna_

_P.S. I almost forgot to say that I've read all the stories in the book you gave me, twice, and they are wonderful! My favorite is called "The Haunted Mountain." It's about some rather horrid faeries who try and steal the crops away from a man called MacAllister. His son is called Fergus, and he has a dog who reminds me rather a lot of Dane, and the place where it happens sounds similar to the mountains between here and West Hill (except I've never come across any faeries in our mountains, thankfully). The story is quite sinister, but ends happily (well, sort of). In any case, it is definitely my favorite. Thank you again, so much, for thinking of me and my love for stories. _

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22 Haring, 9:25 Dragon

Rhianna,

As you suggested, I'm writing this in my spare time (of which I have a great deal) while waiting for another bird to arrive with a letter. (I will wait to write the date, though, until the day your next bird arrives, so you'll know how long it took the bird to find me).

First of all, let me say how much I appreciate you taking the time to write to me, and also the thoughts and prayers you are sending for me, and especially for Maric. It means a great deal to me.

I can't decide if I love being at sea, or if I hate it. It's very exciting for short periods of time (when we arrive in port, mostly), and in between there are long stretches when it is quite dull. However, there is also something very peaceful about being on the ocean, completely surrounded by water as far as the eye can see. For example, I found the way the ship rocks constantly beneath me unnerving at first, but now I find I quite like it. When I lie in my berth at night, the rocking helps me fall asleep. Sometimes I worry I won't be able to sleep at all on solid unmoving ground, once I'm back on land again. Strange for me to say such a thing; I've always felt like such a creature of the earth.

It isn't always comforting, though. Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the sight of nothing but water, and the thought of how deep it stretches down beneath me. We were caught in a storm about a week ago, and the ship was tossed around by the waves so much I feared we would capsize. But then the sea grew calm again, and the water was blue again, and it was hard to imagine the ocean had ever been as ferocious as she'd been the night of the storm.

We should arrive in Jader very soon, and I will be glad to set my feet on the shore. More than that, I pray we will find word of Maric. (I can't quite allow myself to hope we'll actually find Maric just yet. That seems like too much to hope for so soon into this voyage, so instead I focus on getting some news of him, some indication he is, indeed, still alive). I also keep hoping one of your scouts will find something. Seabirds are with us constantly, and from time to time, we see dolphins. They like to ride the bow of the ship, sometimes staying with us for miles and miles. I always wonder if they are yours, but I have no way of knowing one way or the other. Even so, it gives me pleasure to see them. They are beautiful creatures.

Ah. This morning another bird arrived with your latest missive. And I must say how disappointed I am. I never realized what a cruel young woman you are, Rhianna. I am, indeed, jealous about the spectacle of Lady Harriet's cats. I'm trying not to think too much about it, for fear it might reduce me to tears and the crew will toss me overboard for making an arse of myself. And for you to go on and on about it, when you know I won't be able to see it for myself? Really, I had thought better of you. You've probably been attending salons, as well, haven't you, and you know how much I enjoy those. Next, you'll be telling me all about lovely afternoons spent with Habren Bryland, or perhaps huddled over your needlework. As if it's not bad enough I'm missing all the icy winter weather and snow.

Ah well. I have otherwise been enjoying your correspondence, so I suppose I shall forgive you for being so inconsiderate and enjoying your exciting winter in Denerim.

On a more serious note, I was genuinely disappointed to hear you'd gone to the capital; I had considered spending a few days in Highever on our way back from Jader, but after I received your letter saying you'd left for Denerim, there was no longer any point to making that stop.

Riding with Bann Teagan is a good idea. He's pleasant enough, and I'm sure you'd be safe with him. Plus, he's not nearly as quarrelsome as I am, so I doubt anyone is interested in assassinating him. You could also ask Anora to go riding with you. I'm sure your father would agree, as the queen is not allowed to go much of anywhere without guards, so the two of you would be quite safe. And I'm sure Anora would be grateful for your company. She's always been a bit like you - she never quite fit in with the Denerim crowd. Don't tell her I told you this, but she never much liked going to salons, or having to navigate all the gossip-mongers in Denerim. She approached it more like work than pleasure, and only did it because she had to, in order to gain even partial acceptance. She was in the uncomfortable spot of being both the daughter of a teyrn and the daughter of a commoner, giving just about everyone at least one reason to dislike her. I know you understand the first half of that equation. I think the two of you would find you have more in common than you might guess, and you seemed to get along well when you were at Gwaren House for lunch recently.

I do remember Ser Gilmore. He's the one who found us when you and Maric and I were late coming back from our day at the ruins, yes? If so, he struck me as a good sort - conscientious and well-mannered. And don't be too hard on Fergus for not wanting to spar with you. He's probably embarrassed his little sister can best him. I know I am dreading the time when you'll be able to best me, a day that will come eventually, I'm sure. I expect I won't be able to show my face again once that has happened. Although it won't be so bad if you have the decency to wait until you're fully grown. Being beaten by a thirteen-year-old must make it that much worse.

I found your comment about Oren amusing. I was, however, a bit confused about your use of the past tense when talking about yourself as a "bit of a terror." That aside, I'm sure you are, and will continue to be, a monumentally bad influence on your nephew. I would expect no less, and will be interested in hearing what sorts of trouble you help him get into as he gets bigger. The possibilities are endless.

Well done with helping deliver the calf. You're right, the cord is not supposed to break so early, which makes it very likely the calf would have died without your assistance. Widdershins is an appropriate name. And yes, I remember "The Haunted Mountain." It was one of my favorites, as well. If I remember correctly, the dog's name is An Cu Mor, and MacAllister is taken away to be a slave in the mines for a great many years. You're right; it is sinister, and MacAllister probably wouldn't have suffered so much if he'd been smarter about things. Which, I suppose, is an apt lesson for all of us to learn.

In my opinion, you're more than ready to compete in both archery and melee, although don't be surprised if the overall melee is quite a bit more chaotic than you expect. And you don't have much of a chance at winning the archery unless everyone else who enters is rubbish. (You're right about what I was going to say. You don't practice enough, which is a pity because you could be truly excellent if you weren't so lazy about it). In the melee, though you'll do well as long as you don't let anyone hit you, which you are certainly quick enough to manage, especially with Faolan there to defend you. Although, to be honest, I can understand why your father is hesitant to allow you to throw yourself in the middle of a mock battle waged by well-trained knights from across the country.

And I probably shouldn't admit this, but I rather enjoyed the idea of you dressing up as a man and entering under a false name. You could still take credit for winning, when you reveal your true identity at the end, dramatically pulling off your helmet, and shaking loose your hair, with the bodies of your opponents strewn on the dirt all around you. What an amazing moment that would be. Don't you dare do it, though. Not while I'm away at sea. It would genuinely make me miserable to miss something like that.

Any word from your scouts? Oh, and your letters are always interesting, even without Lady Harriet's cats.

Yours Truly,

LMT

P.S. Bonnets? You're really not joking, are you? I would pay a lot of money to see something like that. Or maybe I would pay a lot of money to make certain I would never be forced to see something like that. I'm honestly not sure which. ~ L

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_Note: For the next few chapters, it might be helpful to have a copy of my version of the Thedosian calendar handy, so you can keep track of how much time elapses between letters. You'll find this by following the "Extras" link on my profile. Also, "The Haunted Mountain" is a real story, by Mollie Hunter, set in the Scottish Highlands. It was _my_ favorite when I was a child (horrid faeries and all). _

_Thank you so much to Psyche Sinclair, for the beta, and to all my reviewers: KrystylSky, Psyche Sinclair, Milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, WardenVaer, and Searena. _


	35. A drunken disgrace (two months at sea)

**_NOTE: Since it appears Fanfiction dot net won't allow me to strikethrough text (grrrr), I'm going to just manually write in the tags, like this: (*strike* This is the part that is crossed out */strike*) to indicate where either Rhianna or Loghain have crossed out a word while they were writing. Please pretend along with me; I apologize for the ugliness._**

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_4 Wintersend, 9:26 Dragon _

_Dear Teyrn Loghain, _

_Enclosed is a small gift for your birthday, which I remembered is coming up next week. I drew it from memory (although I suspect Anora noticed me staring at her, when I was trying to fix her face in my mind so I could put it on parchment later). Even though it's not the best likeness, I thought you might enjoy having an image of your daughter to look at while you are at sea. _

_I genuinely hope you had a good birthday (since I'm sure the day will have come and gone before the bird finds you; it's only five days away as I am writing this). Please know I thought a great many good thoughts for you on that day, along with my continuing prayers for you and King Maric. _

_Having said that . . . you are lucky you're one of my very favorite people, or I might have decided not to write to you at all anymore. I was highly offended by the comment you made in your last letter, with respect to the things I'd said about Oren. Of __course__ me being "a bit of a terror" is in the past tense. I pride myself on being as much of a terror as possible now I'm older, and have a great many clever ideas about being __extremely__ terrible. "Bit of a terror," indeed. The fact you have so little regard for my skills hurt my feelings very much. _

_Although I suppose I do owe you an apology, as well. I feel horrible -__deeply __horrible - for gloating about the cats and their bonnets. It was inconsiderate of me, when I knew how heartbroken you would be about not being able to see them. It does, however, provide further evidence of my excellent abilities to terrorize people. Even you will have to admit how very good at it I am. _

_(As to your post script: No, I wasn't joking, and yes she actually did dress them up in their bonnets, except for Ser Hemsworth, who merely had a bow around his neck. It was . . . well, I don't have words to describe just what it was. Honestly)._

_In any case, I have decided to forgive you for your horrible behavior, and continue our correspondence. For the time being, anyway. (Did that sound like a threat? I meant for it to. Haha)!_

_And now I hate Denerim more than ever! If I hadn't come here, you would have visited me in Highever? I wish wish wish that's what had happened, because I can't think of anything that would make me happier than seeing you. And it would have given me the chance to stow away on board ship, and then I could have come with you the rest of the way. Because honestly, being in Ferelden right now is mostly horrible (you'll understand why in a minute). _

_I do have news, rather a lot of it, actually. First things first, the mystery of the bees has been solved. The day after I arrived in Denerim, _*strike*Lady*/strike*_ Queen Anora invited me over for lunch again, and she told me it was, indeed, Habren Bryland who sabotaged the bouquet. Apparently, Habren even kept all the wings in a little box in her room, and her father found them._

_On the one hand, it is good to know the truth, but part of me is unhappy about it, too. I mean, yes, I suspected it was Habren, but to be honest, I was hoping it wasn't her. Because it was such an awful thing to have done, it almost would have been nicer to think of it being done by a stranger (maybe someone from Orlais), for some political reason. And not meant to hurt me, personally. _

_Especially since, after she got caught, Habren swore I was the only one she intended to get stung by the bees, not Queen Anora. That's probably a lie. I'm sure she wouldn't have cared if Anora had been stung, and just said that hoping the queen won't start hating her too much (although I suspect it's a bit late for that). _

_But either way, it isn't a good feeling knowing she set out to hurt me. And succeeded spectacularly well (although she doesn't know that; as far as she knows, I was only stung once or twice)._

_At any rate, after Queen Anora told me what happened, she also said it would be up to me what would be done about it; whether or not I wanted everyone to know what Habren had done. _

_That was a difficult decision. Part of me wanted her to be completely humiliated, maybe dragged through the streets and flogged in the marketplace. (I'm joking about the flogging. Well, sort of). But if I'd agreed to some sort of public punishment, I'm sure Habren would have never forgiven me. Anora also said it might be best if what Habren did never became common knowledge, just to avoid it becoming a big scandal. _

_I thought about it for quite a while, and in the end I decided it would be best if the whole thing was kept quiet. Habren is being punished; she's been banned from setting foot in Denerim for a year. (An entire year! Can you believe it! I won't have to see her at all for a whole year)! And I'm pretty sure Uncle Leonas has some other punishment planned as well. My father seems to think because Habren is only fifteen, it is reasonable she not be punished too terribly much (although I think fifteen is plenty old enough to know right from wrong). But, at any rate I made my decision, and that will be the end of it, I suppose. _

_Anyway, enough about Habren. I do have plenty of other things yet to tell you. _

_Alysanne Valdric was wed to Bann Krole last week. They held the ceremony at the Denerim Chantry, and Mother and I both attended. I would say they looked happy, but that would be a lie. Of course, I don't think anyone is expecting them to be happy. Alysanne herself told me her father was forcing her to marry him, to 'secure power' in the south, and because Bann Krole isn't making Bann Valdric pay any dowry. And she plans to take a lover as soon as Bann Krole dies, or maybe even before. _

_To be honest, the whole thing scares me. She's only a few months older than I am, after all. Which means I'm old enough to get married now, although Mother assured me I didn't have to worry about ending up in a marriage like Alysanne's. (Although, really, I'm not sure she's the one getting the worst of the bargain. Bann Krole might not be very handsome, and he has only one leg, but it's possible he's nice. Something I know is definitely not true about Alysanne. She's nearly as horrid as Habren)._

_Finally (and this final bit of news isn't quite so lovely. Well, I suppose none of the other things were lovely either, were they? But this is worse, which is why, I suppose, I left it for last) . . . where was I? Oh yes. _

_A__pparently, everyone thinks I'm in love with King Cailan, and I was crying at the wedding because I wasn't the one marrying him. Someone saw me crying (because of the bee stings, except people didn't know that was the reason), and someone else saw me drinking wine out of your goblet, and yet another person saw me being sick in the garden. Now all the gossips are saying I was so unhappy I got drunk at the wedding because I'm madly in love with the king. Of course, Habren wasted no time in making sure everyone heard the story (probably she was the one who invented it, right before she was sent back to South Reach). I think Lady Harriet's been telling it to people, too. Rhianna Cousland, a pathetic, drunken disgrace to her family, pining away for the king._

_It's just not fair. I don't even like him! Hopefully something else interesting will happen, and Denerim will find someone else to gossip about. But for the time being, everyone seems to be gossiping about me. Which is ironic, because really, they should all be talking about how horrible Habren is for putting bees in the wedding bouquet, only because of my decision, no one knows about that._

_Fortunately, we'll be returning soon to Highever, so at least I won't be around to hear everyone twittering every time I walk by. _

_Oh, I suppose one interesting (and not horrible) thing did happen. During the First Day celebration at the palace, I managed to convince Bann Teagan to go riding with me the next day, and we had a very nice time. (To be honest, it didn't require much convincing. He said yes pretty much right away). We rode west, out toward the Bannorn, to a little village called Hafter that was still celebrating the festival. We had lunch together, and he teased me about a lot of things and made me laugh, kind of like King Maric used to do. _

_That's not the interesting bit, though. You see, on the way back, we passed a couple of soldiers, and one of them was riding Aeran! Well, of course I had to stop. Partly because Faolan and I wanted to say hello to Aeran, but also to make sure no one had stolen your mount. The woman riding Aeran was called Ser Cauthrien, and she was quick to assure me she was only riding him to make sure he was exercised while you were away at sea. Which made me feel a bit horrible - I should have thought of that myself. I could have been taking Aeran out for rides when I was in town. But Ser Cauthrien seemed very nice, and Aeran likes her quite a lot, so I suppose it's fine this way, too. But I'm going to try and convince Father to let me at least visit with Aeran tomorrow, and from now on I'll do that every time I'm in the city. Poor thing, he probably misses you even more than I miss you. Which is an awfully lot._

_Being at sea sounds mostly very lovely. I wish you had brought me with you. Just think how much fun we would be having together! You know we never run out of things to talk about, and I love being on the water. The storm doesn't sound like fun, though. I would have been scared, I'm sure. Oh, and to answer your question, no, my scouts haven't found anything. Well, I don't know what they have or haven't found, since none of them have returned to tell me anything._

_This letter has gotten quite long, hasn't it? So, I'll send it off now, along with the drawing._

_Again, I hope you had a very happy birthday. _

_Love, _

_Rhianna_

_P.S. Please don't forget __that if you ever doubt my skills of terror again, I might have to discontinue our correspondence. _

_P.P.S. That is a joke. I am fairly certain nothing you could say, short of "stop writing to me with your inane babble, Rhianna" would make me discontinue our correspondence. And probably not even that. Oh, Maker. Does that mean I'm not really terrible after all? I hope not. ~ R_

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9 Wintersend, 9:26 Dragon

Dear Rhianna,

Unfortunately we found nothing in Jader, no sign of anyone who had sailed on the_ Demelza. _Not even any hint of a rumor about the ship or any of her passengers. It was disappointing, to say the least. I've decided it's time to leave the Waking Sea and begin searching the Amaranthine Ocean.

Since we weren't stopping in Highever, we made a stop in Kirkwall instead, three days ago. Have you ever been there? I'd forgotten what an awful place it is. There are statues carved into the cliffs as you sail into the harbor - two slaves, in chains - gigantic statues taller than the mast of this ship. They're horrible, and more than that there's something about the city that feels . . . wrong. An energy here. I don't know how to explain it, but it was with great relief we sailed away again yesterday.

From here, we're going to have another look around the islands near Hercinia, and then into the Rialto Bay.

Having just received your latest letter, I cannot tell you, Rhianna, how deeply I appreciate the portrait of Anora. It is a very good likeness of her, and incredibly generous of you to have thought of drawing it for me. I have tacked it up in my berth, so I can look at it every morning and night. I think the thing I love best about it is the way it reminds me both of the girl who is pictured as well as the girl who drew it. Two girls who also happen to be two of my favorite people in all the world. Thank you. It is one of the best things anyone has ever given me. It makes me smile every time I look at it.

Better still, as you can see by the date, your letter arrived exactly on the day of my birthday. Which means I am, indeed, having a very good day.

Now, as to the rest of your letter. First things first: Rhianna, I am truly sorry you have become the subject of such slanderous and malicious gossip. If it helps at all, I do know what it is like to be talked about unkindly. Although in my case, more often than not, the things being said were at least partially true. Usually entirely true. I don't expect hearing this will make it hurt any less that people are telling lies about you, but maybe it will help to know you are not alone. And also to know there are people who know the truth, and would never believe such things about you.

You are better than all of them, Rhianna. Please remember this, because it is the truth.

As for Habren, I can't say I am surprised. The girl has shown herself to be both malicious and ridiculously stupid time and time again. Still, this is rather more serious than anything she has done in the past. She is fortunate I am away at sea, or I would have dragged her through the streets and flogged her myself, no matter what anyone else said about it. (And I'm not joking in the slightest).

Even so, I have no doubt you made the right decision. Humiliating her in public would only make her resent you more, and I'm sure that Anora didn't want any scandal attached to her wedding day (not to mention the fact her guards allowed such sabotage to happen unnoticed. That doesn't reflect well on any of us, truth be told). And, knowing Anora, she will find ways of making certain Habren suffers some genuine consequences for what she did. My daughter is capable of being very subtle, yet very effective, at making certain things go her way. And I am certain she will not allow Habren to go unpunished for what she did - both for the threat to Anora herself, but even more so the fact you were so badly injured.

I am glad, for your sake, the mystery is solved. It is always better to know things for certain, rather than wonder and never find out the truth. It still troubles me we never found out who locked you away in the guard tower all those years ago.

I'm sure Aeran would be very happy to see you. I will write to Cauthrien and let her know you are more than welcome to take him out anytime you are in Denerim. I am glad you were able to meet Ser Cauthrien. She is a good person, and an excellent soldier. Don't tell her I said this, but I expect there will be promotions in her future. If she continues on as she has in the past, I can see her leading all of Maric's Shield eventually. Come to think of it, you should spar with her someday. If you can keep out of the way of her sword, you'll know you are truly coming into your own as a warrior. And if you can't keep out of the way . . . well, just make sure you keep out of the way.

Alysanne *strike*Valdric*/strike* Krole actually told you she plans to take a lover? Maker's breath, that's one of the saddest things I've heard in a while. Valudur Krole is a good man, a war hero. He lost his leg fighting with the Rebels. I don't suppose I blame her for not being attracted to him, though. She is very young, and he is old and crotchety (even crotchetier than I am, if that's a real word). But he's not a bad man. Then again, I doubt he married her thinking they would fall in love. It's a shame, though, all the way around.

And now, it appears it is my turn to apologize. I am dreadfully sorry my previous letter offended you. You are right. I underestimated your powers of terror, a mistake I promise never to make again. It is a pity I didn't bring you along with me. We could have called you the "Terror of the High Seas," which sounds very piratical. I think it suits you. Have you ever thought about becoming a pirate? That might be an alternative career to consider, assuming your father does, indeed, leave the teyrnir to Fergus. Just a thought. You are good with a sword, and I think you'd look very dashing in a bandana, and perhaps an eye-patch. A pretend one, that is, as I doubt actually losing an eye would be much fun.

At any rate, please do not stop writing. Receiving your letters cheers me greatly, and watching for one of your messengers gives me something to occupy my mind while out in the middle of the ocean. For my part, as I said, I promise never to doubt your 'skills of terror.' Do we have a bargain?

Yours,

LMT

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_14 Drakonis, 9:26 Dragon_

_Dear Teyrn Loghain, _

_You're very welcome for the drawing. As you can see, I've enclosed another one, of King Maric. I thought it might be useful when you stop in ports; you can show it to people to ask if they've seen him. _

_And you're one of my favorite people in all the world, too. In case you didn't already know. (Have I told you that before? Well, it can't hurt for you to hear it again). _

_Yes, I think we have a bargain. As long as you acknowledge my 'skills of terror,' I am more than happy to continue writing. And I like "The Terror of the High Seas." The possibility of becoming a pirate had never occurred to me before, but I find I am quite sold on the idea. I plan to mention it at dinner tonight, and see what Mother and Father think. _

_(Ha ha! Can you imagine? If I even joked about such a thing, they'd lock me away in the dungeon. And if they knew it was your idea originally, I'm fairly certain you'd never be allowed in the Coastlands ever again. But I do think I'd make a wonderful pirate. Not a bandana, though. I'd look much more dashing in one of those big hats. And of course an eye patch, but definitely only a fake one). _

_Thank you for what you said about the gossip, and about Habren. I am trying not to care what anyone else thinks. Other than my family, and you, I don't really care, most of the time, anyway. Occasionally I let things bother me, but then I remember what you wrote, and it does help me feel much better. None of what they're saying is true, and as long as I know that, and the people I care about know it, it can't hurt me. It's just gossip. _

_I wish you were here right now so I could give you a kiss on the cheek, the way I've done so many times before. You deserve one. So, close your eyes right now, and imagine me doing just that, okay? Placing a kiss right in the middle of your cheek._

_There. Did you feel it? I hope so. _

_Fortunately, for the time being at least, the gossip seems to have blown over, partly because of other things that happened, as you'll see below. At least until the next time Habren decides to come up with some way to try and make me miserable. Thankfully, it will be several months before she'll be back in Denerim and have the opportunity._

_So . . . the reason people have forgotten about my desperate love for King Cailan is that something else exciting did happen. I'm really not sure about all the details - I'm not sure anyone is clear on all the details - but just a few weeks into the new year, all of Denerim was scandalized by something to do with Bann Perrin. Apparently, he got horribly drunk, and was found half-naked in the street near the Arl of Redcliffe's estate. (What he was doing there is anyone's guess, as Arl Eamon wasn't even in the city at the time). _

_Even more interesting, on that same night, the captain of the guard - I think his name is Ames - was also found in the street. Also horribly drunk, on duty, and - I swear I am not making this up - he was wearing nothing but some very inappropriate smallclothes. Again, no one wants to tell me all the details, probably because I'm only thirteen, but apparently they were made of lace, or something, and since Bann Perrin was found without any smalls, everyone is saying the ones Ames was wearing really belonged to Bann Perrin! Which makes the story quite . . . well, ridiculous, really, but I promise you parts of it are true. Or at least I'm reporting faithfully what I heard. _

_It does seem strange. I don't know Bann Perrin very well, but he never struck me as the sort to run around drunk losing his smallclothes. Then again, people will do all manner of strange things, won't they?_

_Luckily for me, now Bann Perrin and his "suspect underthings" have been all anyone wants to talk about, so my supposed mad lust for King Cailan has been forgotten. Possibly, Habren being gone is also helping in that regard, as she's not here to remind everyone about it. And while it doesn't really make me happy people are being so mean about Bann Perrin, it is a great relief to be out of the spotlight of the gossips._

_Let's see. What other news can I tell you? Nathaniel Howe has been sent away to the Free Marches. I haven't been able to learn the whole story from anyone (Mother and Father refuse to talk about it), but I get the feeling Nathaniel did something that made his father angry, and that's why he was sent away. And now people are saying Thomas will be Arl Howe's heir instead of Nathaniel. Which would be a shame for Amaranthine. Nathaniel is a thousand times better than Thomas. I don't think Thomas would be a very good arl at all._

_So, we've been back in Highever for a while (which is the main reason for the delay in answering your last letter. It took longer than usual to get back due to a blizzard that left us stranded at an inn in the Bannorn for more than a week). Then I was busy getting ready for the Festival of Wolves last week. I insisted on playing Haelia again this year, even though Mother wanted me to pass the role on to someone else. I have to admit (to you, anyway; I didn't tell this to anyone else) I was a bit scared, after what happened last year. But I'm tired of being scared of things, and I had my dagger under my dress, and I knew I'd be safe because you and Father and King Maric made sure all of the werewolves were gone. _

_I was right, and everything was fine. There weren't nearly as many people at the festival this year - I suspect some people stayed away because of what happened last year. But I'm glad I performed again, and Father made sure there were plenty of guards, and everything was fine. I missed seeing your face in the audience, though. I kept looking out in the crowd for you, before I remembered you were floating on the sea somewhere, hundreds of miles away. _

_Dane asked me to give you his regards. You would hardly recognize him. He's at least twice as big as he was when we were all in Denerim. He snuck into the larder yesterday and Nan screamed so loud you probably heard her out at sea. So now Dane isn't allowed to roam around the castle unless I'm with him. Which is fine, since I'm with him most of the time anyway. He did like to sneak out of the library, though, while I was having lessons with my tutor, but now that will have to stop because of his naughty behavior. So he'll be stuck with me learning history and practicing his Orlesian. You'll be proud of him, though, for not being at all good with Orlesian. He never makes the verbs agree correctly, and his pronunciation is rubbish. _

_Please find King Maric soon, so both of you can return home. I miss you both so very much. _

_Love, _

_Rhianna_

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3 Cloudreach, 9:26 Dragon

Dearest Rhianna,

We should arrive in Antiva City on the morrow. It's a big port - the biggest we've been to yet. This gives me hope we will find someone who knows something, someone who saw anything.

I feel as though I owe you an apology. Your letters are so filled with interesting news about Ferelden and details about your life, and mine are dull by comparison. I suppose that's to be expected - my days are mostly filled with nothing but the rocking of the boat across the waves, and the ocean stretching out in every direction. Even so, I feel as though I am benefitting more from our correspondence than you are. Perhaps I will attempt to stir up some trouble in Antiva City, so I will have something interesting to write in my next letter.

The drawing of Maric is brilliant. And yes, it will be very helpful. I plan to show it to everyone I encounter from here on out.

Howe sent Nathaniel to the Free Marches? It is incomprehensible, for Howe to consider making Thomas his heir. Let's hope there is something more to the story. Perhaps Nathaniel is away in service to one of the Marcher lords. It wouldn't be unheard of for him to attain knighthood before taking on the arling. (Unusual, but not unheard of). In any case, I completely agree with your assessment that Thomas would not be a very good arl. Let's hope for Nathaniel's swift return.

And I'm not quite sure what to say about the incident with Bann Perrin, and the guard captain. Whose name is Eams, by the way, and a good man. It is difficult for me to believe he would be drunk on duty. Then again, I would never have expected Bann Perrin to be half-naked outside Redcliffe House, either. All around, it does sound very strange. But I am glad, for your sake, of the diversion. Hopefully the gossips will give up their ridiculous talk about you and Cailan.

I'm proud of you for deciding to perform again at the festival, and I wish I had been there to see you, and cheer you on. I'm not sure I ever told you this (considering all the excitement that happened after your performance), but I thought you were amazing in the reenactment. You have a natural talent for oration - there were a great many people in that crowd (myself included) who would have genuinely followed you into battle that night if you had asked. Had the Custodians timed their attack to happen during the performance, you would have had an army ready to defend you. It was inspirational, and I would love to see you perform again, perhaps next year, if I am back from this voyage. Will you promise to play Haelia again if I am back in time?

Please do not force Dane to learn Orlesian. It's bad enough you know it. I can't bear the thought of the both of you speaking that repulsive language. Do tell Dane, however, that I am proud of his foraging skills. Knowing to go directly to where the food is kept can be a useful skill to have. Just don't tell Nan I said so. And Maker forbid you tell your parents the pirate thing was my idea. I don't want to be banned forever from Highever Castle. That would make things rather inconvenient when I come to visit you.

Yours,

LMT

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_Note: A HUGE thank you to my marvelous beta, Psyche Sinclair, as well as to my lovely reviewers: KrystylSky, Arsinoe de Blassenville, WardenVaer, Doom-N-Gloomgal, Milly-finalfantasy, Psyche Sinclair and Graydevilforever._

_There is artwork that accompanies this chapter: the portraits of both Anora and Maric, as well as (MAKER FORGIVE ME) a little sketch I did of three of Lady Harriet's cats. In their bonnets. You can find these by following the "Extras" link on my profile._


	36. Adventures of my own (six months at sea)

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_12 Bloomingtide, 9:26 Dragon_

_Dear Loghain, _

_Don't be silly. Your letters are wonderful, and far more interesting than mine. I'm just doing the same, regular sorts of things I always do, while you're out on an adventure, seeing all manner of interesting new things. (Although, yes, I do see how floating around on the ocean for days on end could be dull. And if your letters went on and on describing all that water for pages and pages, I suppose it might not be the most interesting thing ever. But as it is now? Your letters are perfect). _

_So, tell me what it was like in Antiva City. Did you find anything there, any sign of Maric or his ship? Did you see any assassins? (Although, I don't suppose they wear signs that say, "I'm an assassin," so I'm not sure how you'd tell them from all the other people)._

_Oriana tells me stories about Antiva sometimes, and it always sounds so exciting. Based on her stories, I'm absolutely certain you did see assassins, whether you knew it or not. To hear her tell it, half the population are assassins, although sometimes I think she says that because she knows I like exciting stories. Which is funny because even though she knows I like them, she never tells me any truly exciting stories. She says they're "inappropriate for a young woman of my social standing." I think she might faint away at the thought of the story you told me when I was five. Decapitating spiders and fighting darkspawn? I have no doubt that was highly "inappropriate for a young woman of my social standing." _

_Did you know what a bad influence you have been on me over the years? Please don't let that deter you from being a bad influence again in the future, though. Promise? And in return, I will absolutely promise to perform at the Festival of Wolves again next year if you are back by Drakonis. So please come back by Drakonis. Or sooner. That would be fine with me, too. I'd even recite my whole Haelia speech for just you if you were to come back sooner._

_I also promise not to teach Dane any more words in Orlesian. And, as he generally sleeps through most of my lessons (snoring quite loudly!), it is doubtful he'll learn any directly from my tutor, either. _

_Let's see. What has been happening in Highever? Oh, I know! I don't think I told you yet that Father's decided I can enter the tournament this summer. I'm so excited! At first, he wanted me to compete just in archery, but I was able to convince him to let enter the melee, as well. Well, the tirocinium, anyway, with all the knights who received their accolade in the past year. I had to swear I wouldn't die a horrible, bloody death, but it's a tournament, after all. I'm really not worried about dying a horrible bloody death. Do you think there is any chance you will be back in Ferelden by Harvestmere? I would dearly love to have you here to watch me in the tournament. _

_Even though you called me lazy. I think you might have a few 'skills of terror' yourself. And it's not true. I'm not lazy. I'm just . . . _

_Oh, nevermind. You're right. When it comes to archery, I am lazy. Ha ha! _

_Oren is growing like a weed. He talks now, and has gotten into the habit of following me around just like Dane did when he was small. Oriana won't let me put a sword in his hand yet, though. She says I have to wait until he's at least five years old. Which I think is excessive, but Mother says I have to follow Oriana's wishes in this matter, so I am. Instead, I'm teaching him how to catch frogs and lizards and snakes. Well, I catch them, of course, and just let Oren pet them very carefully. Sometimes he wants to "show Mummy and Da," so of course then I have to bring them inside. Can you imagine how much Oriana loves that? She's very nice about it, though, and always tells Oren how clever he is and what a beautiful snake he's found this time. But then when he's not watching, she gives me "that look." But I ignore her, because it's good for him to get to know the animals like this, and I make sure he knows which ones are venomous, or might hurt him in other ways if I wasn't around._

_And speaking of Dane (except I wasn't speaking of him, was I? Nevermind that, I am now), he has gotten huge. His head comes up to my waist and I'm pretty sure he's still not full grown. I think he might be as tall as Faolan by the time he's finished. Possibly, you could have skipped giving me the horse, and I could have just ridden Dane around the countryside. I'm joking about that; even if Dane were big enough, I would never want to be without Faolan. I love him so much._

_I can tell you've sailed farther away now. It is taking the birds longer to make the round trip. I still say a prayer for you and for King Maric every single night. I hope Andraste is listening. If you don't find King Maric soon, I might have to switch to some other religion. Perhaps I could pray to that Avvarian trickster god. The one on King Maric's horribly ugly amulet? _

_That is a joke, and I hope Andraste won't be angry with me for joking like that. I do love her dearly. I truly do. I'm pretty sure she knows, and wouldn't be angry with me for wanting you and King Maric to come home, even if it meant praying to someone else. To be honest, if the Avvarian trickster could help you find King Maric, I would pray to him as well, no matter what Andraste and the Maker might think about it._

_Love,_

_Rhianna_

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15 Solace, 9:26 Dragon

Dear Rhianna,

Happy Birthday! Enclosed is your gift, which I know will arrive belatedly, but I hope you will consider it to have been worth the wait. It's called an ammonite, and apparently it was a creature that lived in the sea a very, very long time ago. It's kind of like a nautilus (have you ever seen one? They live in the ocean and they're very strange, and have a big shell with tentacles sticking out), but this one didn't come out of the sea. The man who sold it to me swore he found it on top of a mountain in the Hunterhorns, which he thinks is proof that a very long time ago, that part of the world was covered by the ocean. I'm not quite sure what to make of his story, frankly, but it is certain the ammonite is very old. As you can see, it's turned to rock. In any case, I thought you might find it interesting. I'd certainly never seen anything like it before. And I know how much you love animals, but I didn't want to get something for you that had been killed in order to become a trinket. So this seemed appropriate.

Again, I apologize for not getting it to you before your birthday, but it took me a while to find something I thought you would like, mostly because we are only on land in a town perhaps once a month. The rest of the time, we spend out at sea, or sailing close to the coast, looking for any sign Maric's ship might have passed nearby. We often take a small boat into shore, to search some of the more remote areas where there aren't many people. I have seen some beautiful and amazing things: lightning storms that lit up the night, and breaching whales, and tiny islands populated by birds and wildlife the likes of which I have never seen in Ferelden, and sunsets that have taken my breath away. But still no sign of Maric. A few days ago, I did see something that made me think of you. Well, I often see things that make me think of you, things I wish you were here to see, as well. And to be honest, just looking out at the waves often makes me think of you. But this in particular was something I knew you would have loved.

It was a turtle. We were out in the middle of the ocean, and there was a turtle. Its back was very dark, with deep ridges, and it swam right at the surface, its head poking out of the water to stare at the boat as we sailed past. The most amazing thing about it, though, was its size; it was at least as big as a horse cart. I am not exaggerating. Just think of a cart you would use for hauling hay or bringing goods to market? You would not be able to fit this turtle inside. It was incredible. I tried talking to it - well, thinking at it, actually, as you have described to me, with pictures - but to no avail. It ignored me completely. I suppose I shall just have to rely on you to do all the talking to animals in the future. And of course, seeing turtles always brings a smile to my face, when I think of the one I am wearing as I write this (which I haven't removed, not even once, since you tied it around my neck).

Oh, one other thing did happen you might find interesting. We had to "sally ship." Do you know what that means? I'm guessing you do, but I'll tell you anyway. We'd sailed a bit too close to shore, and got stuck in a sandbar, and the captain had all of us - everyone on the ship - line up on one side, and then run to the other side, and then back again. Soon, the ship was rocking back and forth enough to dislodge her from the bottom, and we were able to sail away again. It was quite exciting. And I suppose I'm glad we were successful. It would have been difficult to search for Maric if we were stuck in that one spot for the rest of the trip.

Now, however, I am at a bit of a loss as to what to write next. I had originally planned out several pages of detailed descriptions of the water we've sailed through, well-organized by type (blue, green, blue-green, green-blue, water not really blue enough to be called green-blue, but also not entirely green. And water neither blue nor green at all, but entirely grey, plus a separate section devoted to nighttime). After the disparaging comment in your last letter, however, I decided not to include them.

Perhaps it's for the best, for all concerned. Particularly the gull who will carry this letter to you. An additional twenty or so pieces of parchment would have been uncomfortably heavy, no doubt.

So, instead I suppose I shall tell you about Antiva City.

If Oriana's stories made it sound like a wild, raucous place filled with thieves and assassins and prostitutes and con artists, then she probably didn't do the place justice. I have never seen anything like Antiva City. Even in the middle of the night, there was as much activity on the streets as we see during the daytime in the Denerim marketplace, and during mid-day, the crowds are almost overwhelming. The air smells like spiced meat and tomatoes, and the food was amazing. I wish I could bring you back some of the dishes I was able to try, but I could think of no way to do that. So, one of these days, we will go back there together, and you can taste everything for yourself.

At every turn, I half-expected someone to put a knife in my back, just for fun, which fortunately didn't happen, although I did witness two stabbings. In both cases, the victim was just walking down the street, apparently minding his own business, and a moment later, someone had put a knife in his back and been gone again before the body hit the cobblestones. So, to answer your question, yes. I most assuredly did see assassins, and they weren't even trying to be sneaky about it.

In the end, I have mixed feelings about Antiva. I enjoyed the excitement and the stimulating environment (and the food!), but it is a place I would only ever want to visit for short periods at a time.

I am glad your Father is allowing you to compete, and you won't have to dress in men's armor and sneak onto the field. Good luck in the tournament. Not that you need luck. You have skill, which is far more important. As I'm sure you've figured out by now (since I'm still sailing in the opposite direction of Ferelden), I won't be there to watch you compete, for which I am genuinely sorry. I know you'll make me proud, though, even if you don't win a thing. Just do your best. Of course, if you do your best, you'll win. I have trained you very well. (Did you like the way I'm already taking the credit for your victory? As you would say . . . ha ha)!

We are going to head further north soon, having nearly finished exploring the island east of Rivain. I think we'll sail for Seheron first, and eventually, I want to visit Minrathous. It's a very busy port, and if the_ Demelza_ came anywhere through those waters and was seen, someone in Minrathous should know something about it.

I hope you enjoyed your birthday.

Yours,

LMT

P.S. I'd stick with Andraste if I were you. Imhar was a bit dodgy, I thought.

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_4 Kingsway, 9:26 Dragon_

_Dear Loghain,_

_Thank you __so__ much for the pendant! It is absolutely beautiful! I have seen a nautilus before, just once, washed up on the beach after a storm. Although I am having a hard time seeing how this could have possibly looked like one. They're so strange, like an octopus inside of a shell, and this looks nothing like an octopus. (I do believe you, though, when you say they're related). Also, I have never heard anything about the Hunterhorns having been under the sea! It's an exciting idea, although if it's true, then it must have happened a very long time ago. _

_In any case, I really do love the pendant and have worn it constantly since it arrived. Thank you. I think it's possible you know me better than anyone else in the whole world, even my parents. I know they love me, but I don't think they understand me the way you do. _

_Please promise we'll go to Antiva together some day! Your account makes it sound even more exciting than Oriana's stories. She never saw anyone actually get stabbed! (Not as far as I know, anyway). Maker's breath! Didn't I tell you you would see assassins? _

_And you had to sally ship? Ha ha! That must have been exciting on the caravel. Of course, Fergus and I have had to rock ourselves out of trouble a few times in our little row boat, but when it's just the two of us, and the boat isn't very big, it's not particularly impressive. And when we take the birlinn out, we have to be careful not to get stuck, because she's too big for just the two of us to sally her out of anything. You probably weren't really in danger of being stuck there forever, though. Unless you managed to get stuck at high tide (which seems unlikely; Captain Rackham struck me as the sort who would not allow that to happen), the ship would have come loose when the tide came back in a few hours later. But it is a better story the way you told it, so you can always pretend I never said that about the tides. _

_I'm sorry it's taken me so long to answer your last letter, but I've been away from home for more than a month, having some adventures of my own. _

_All of us, Oriana and Oren included, traveled to Denerim for the Landsmeet, and it wasn't nearly as horrible as I feared it would be. Since __Mother was there, she and I attended the salons together, and it was actually rather lovely. Well, it probably would have been fine even if Mother had stayed in Highever, considering that Habren is still exiled to South Reach. Tanith and Thomas tried to be horrible to me a few times, but I could tell they weren't as committed as usual, and most everyone else was quite friendly, especially after the rolls were called at the Landsmeet. Because, of course my name was included, along with all the knights who received their accolades and such, since I'd received Calenhad's Cross last year. I'd sort of forgotten about it, but after it was announced, everyone was curious as to what I had done to deserve such an honor. So, what happened with the bees is now common knowledge (although people have been led to believe they got into the flowers accidentally; everyone who knows the truth was careful not to mention Habren or the fact the bees were put there on purpose). A few people even asked if they could see the medal, so I was glad I'd worn it._

_The attention did start to get tiring after a while, though. Especially from one person in particular. There were a few days when, every time I turned around, Vaughan Kendalls was there, as though he had been following me, or waiting to talk to me. And then when we did talk, he . . . well, how do I describe this? He was friendly, and polite, mostly, but he seemed very skeptical about me having done anything worthy of Calenhad's Cross. I explained to him what had happened, and he just sort of laughed in a way that made me uncomfortable, as though he thought I was lying about it. Even so, it was much less annoying than the sorts of things Habren used to say, so I suppose I shouldn't complain._

_After the Landsmeet, Mother and I sailed from Denerim to Kirkwall, and then took a carriage to Starkhaven, to visit Mother's sister, Mathilde, and my cousin, Luna. _

_You're right about Kirkwall. The statues are horrible, and it is not a pleasant city. I always had the feeling I was being watched, and I kept seeing things out of the corner of my eye that weren't really there when I turned my head. I was very glad we only stayed there one night when we arrived, and two nights while we waited for the ship to take us back to Highever. I didn't like it at all, although Hightown is quite a bit fancier than just about anywhere in Denerim. Still, I'd take Denerim over Kirkwall any day. Thank the Maker I'm Fereldan and not a Marcher. _

_As for Starkhaven, it was interesting, I suppose. Mother and I went to a salon (salon!) at the Vael Manor, which is the home of the prince of Starkhaven. The prince has three sons and a daughter, which makes me suspect Mother brought me along to meet them. (The sons, not the daughter; you can guess why). _

_I can't say I was impressed with the city in general, or with any of the sons. Everyone was nice on the surface, but they seem to think Fereldans are all barbarians, or something. They kept asking me about Alamarri tribes and Avvar raids (I can't even remember an Avvar raid happening during my lifetime. Has there been one?), and they would say things like, "she's so well-spoken for a Fereldan." I think they were surprised I'd remembered to bathe and wear shoes and comb my hair. Or perhaps they were surprised to learn the people they refer to as the "Dog Lords" aren't actually dog-people after all, with long snouts and tails and pointed ears._

_Either way, trying to answer all their questions and listening to their strange ideas wasn't really an enjoyable experience._

_As for the Vael brothers themselves, they were . . . all right, I suppose. Have you met them? One of them (I can't remember if he was the eldest or the second born) is called Ewan, and he was quite nice. Much nicer, in fact, than anyone else at the salon, but he seemed a bit slow in the head. It took him a long while to decide what to say, although I didn't really mind because when he finally did speak, it was usually something very friendly. Alec (the other "older" brother) was polite in the way that he spoke, and definitely quick-witted, but I didn't like the way he looked at me. It reminded me of the way a wolf watches a deer, just before trying to run it down, if you know what I mean. __The daughter - her name is Meghan - wasn't rude, exactly, but it seemed clear she thought herself above having to entertain a little girl from across the Waking Sea, so I mostly tried to stay out of her way._

_And the youngest brother was something else entirely. Sebastian is his name, and during the party, I was wandering by myself out in the garden (having had enough of ignorant comments about Ferelden) and I turned a corner to find him with two people sitting on his lap. Two! A young man, and a girl who looked about my age. At the same time! He was kissing the man, and had his hand up the girl's skirt, and I think they were probably all drunk, judging by the selection of empty wine bottles beside the bench. And Sebastian is not much older than I am! _

_I tried to leave before they noticed me, but Sebastian saw me and called out before I could get away. And do you want to know what he did? He asked me if I wanted to join in! To come and sit on his lap, too! Maker's blood! I'd never dreamed of something like that. Him with two lovers, and inviting a third! What in the world could he have done with three of us, all at the same time?_

_(Although, this does remind me of something Bann Teagan said to me once. He asked me if I had three husbands. He was joking, though, and I really doubt he had anything like this Sebastian thing in mind). _

_In case you were wondering, I told Sebastian 'No, thank you!" as quickly as possible, and ran back into the manor. Better to be insulted for being Fereldan than to have to watch Sebastian Vael doing . . . whatever he was doing. With two different people at once. Besides, I had no intention of kissing him, and I certainly didn't like the idea he might try to stick his hand up my dress. _

_Otherwise, the visit was fine. Aunt Mathilde was very nice, as was Cousin Luna, and the Free Marches are pretty, all rolling hills dotted with trees. It became a bit monotonous after a while, though, and wasn't nearly as pretty as Ferelden, although I will admit I enjoyed seeing a bit of the world. _

_Oh, and all the way to and from Kirkwall, on the ship, I stood out on deck and looked for a turtle like the one you saw, but no luck. I did see a lot of jellyfish and some dolphins and two whales. But a turtle as big as a horse cart? Someday I should definitely like to see one of those! It must have been amazing. Although how grumpy of him to ignore you. I'm proud of you for trying, though. I'm sure you did it right, and he was just in a bad mood or something that day. _

_Thank you again, so much, for the pendant. I wear it every day, which got me into a bit of trouble when Mother noticed it and asked where I had gotten it. I told her you had sent it, but then she was curious as to how it had arrived here when she hadn't seen any messenger. I told her a little bird brought it, which wasn't a lie, although I'm pretty sure she didn't believe me, and now she keeps looking at me strangely. _

_I think perhaps you're right, and I ought to tell my parents my secret. It's not as though they'll be angry about it, right? It's not my fault, after all. It just . . . is. Still, it makes me a bit nervous. I did tell Fergus (a while ago, actually), and nothing bad came of that. So, I think it's time. Or will be, soon. _

_I miss you terribly and I can hardly wait until you come back to Ferelden. _

_Love,_

_Rhianna_

_P.S. I apologize for what I wrote in my last letter: the hurtful suggestion I would not find a discourse about water utterly fascinating. (Although I suppose I'm not really all that sorry; skills of terror, you know). However, if you really want to write twenty pages about the ocean, next time feel free to send it. I would honestly read every single word of anything you choose to write. And, of course, I've always been particularly curious about the difference between blue-green and green-blue water (and please don't neglect teal and turquoise; those are also favorites). Just give me some warning, so I can send a pelican or an albatross, or some other bird big enough to carry the weight. (Ha ha)._

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_As always, an enormous THANK YOU to my lovely beta, Psyche Sinclair, and to my wonderful reviewers: Searena, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Milly-finalfantasy, Nascense, KrystylSky, Mialiah and Psyche Sinclair._

_If you google "ammonite pendant," the first hit is a necklace very similar to the one Loghain sent to Rhianna._


	37. Actual news to report (11 months at sea)

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11 Harvestmere, 9:26 Dragon

Dear Rhianna,

Finally, after all these months, I have some actual news to report! The first thing we've found on this Maker-damned voyage that has given me any hope.

We stopped in port at Alam, in the south of Seheron, and in one of the wharfside taverns, I met a sailor who saw the _Demelza_, nearly a year ago, sailing east toward Minrathous. He said he was on night watch, and the ship sailed right past. Not only had he read the name on the bow, but the description he gave was definitely that of Maric's ship. So, I know the ship did not sink. At least not on the way to Wycome.

I still don't have any idea why they would have been sailing north, and where their final destination might have been, but at least now I know we're heading in the right direction.

I keep trying to come up with theories about why they were sailing so far from Wycome. Perhaps the ship was boarded by pirates. Or slavers. That can happen, near Tevinter where slavery is still legal. But if that were the case, I can't for the life of me figure out why Maric hasn't turned up somewhere by now. He's the King of Ferelden. Surely whoever captured him (if that is, indeed, what happened) would have tried to ransom him back. Which makes me think it far more likely the Orlesians are behind his disappearance, and they've kept him captive (or executed him, Maker forbid) as a way of weakening Ferelden, as well as disrupting the efforts toward peace in the Free Marches.

At any rate, I cannot quite describe just how good it feels to know I have not been on a wild goose chase all this time. Maric's ship did not sink in some random storm on the way to Wycome. Clearly, other factors are at play here. With any luck, and Andraste's grace, this means I am on Maric's trail now, and finding him is just a matter of time.

From your letter, it is clear you have had your share of adventures these past few months, as well. The trip to Starkhaven in particular sounds exciting.

I have never been to Starkhaven, although I did meet the current prince once, several years ago. I have never met any of his sons, however, and now I'm glad of that, after hearing about them. I believe that Alec is the eldest, and his father's heir. As for Sebastian? I don't even know what to say about that. Not that such behavior is uncommon, but it's generally considered good form to hold one's assignations behind closed doors, rather than in the middle of a salon involving foreign guests. Did you tell your mother? Although that might have been even more awkward than it was for you already.

There is a certain irony for your civility to be called into question by virtue of being Fereldan, when one of the sons of Starkhaven's prince was behaving in such a scandalous fashion. Clearly, there is no need for you to take any negative comments you may have heard to heart. Although I am rather amused by the idea of "dog lords" with long snouts and tufted ears. And tails.

Maker's balls. I can't get over the fact Sebastian Vael tried to involve you in his debauchery. It does ease my mind, at least, knowing you are more than capable of defending yourself if any man ever gets overly friendly. If for some reason you find yourself without your dagger, a knee to the groin will usually do the trick. Or your thumbs in his eye sockets. Or strike upward with the meaty parts of your palm against his nose. Or use your forehead, right at the hairline, to just about any part of his face. Elbows are also effective weapons. In all cases, use as much force as possible, and don't be shy about attacking first, and asking questions later. Always do whatever is necessary to ensure your own safety.

As for Avvar raids, there was one about five years ago, in the West Hills. It wasn't serious, though; I don't think anyone was even killed. Just a few horses stolen. Other than that, the Avvars have been quiet. Which probably means we should expect another raid sometime soon, perhaps even this winter. I'm sure Gallagher Wulff is taking the necessary precautions. You shouldn't have anything to worry about up in Highever, though. I don't think an Avvar raiding party has ever made it that far north and east.

And now, I have a favor to ask of you. Cheeky, I know, to ask more of you than you are already doing, being so faithful with this correspondence. But I was hoping you might agree to do just one more drawing for me. The ones of Maric and Anora give me a great deal of pleasure, and there is one more person whose face I would like to see. The person I miss perhaps most of all.

In case you can't guess who I'm talking about, I would be pleased if you would send me a portrait of yourself. In return, I do, indeed, promise to take you to Antiva someday. I'm sure you'll enjoy it, assuming we can avoid all the assassins.

We are heading due west now, and should arrive soon in Minrathous. I promise you will be the first to know when and if I learn anything more about Maric's whereabouts. And I will get to work on the essay you requested about the various types of water I have encountered on this voyage. I am certain it will be a riveting document that will not disappoint.

Yours,

LMT

P.S. When did Bann Teagan ask you if you had three husbands? That is a rather odd thing for him to have said. You don't, do you? Have three husbands? I would be extremely distressed to learn you had gotten married - not just once but three times! - while I was away.

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_12 Firstfall, 9:26 Dragon_

_Dear Loghain,_

_You met someone who had seen King Maric's ship? That is the most wonderful news ever! Oh, I hope, I hope, I hope you find someone in Minrathous who will have more information. Perhaps by the time this reaches you, you will already know something, or maybe even have found him! That would be the best thing I can imagine. _

_The idea the ship was taken by slavers, however, is terrifying! Although even that is better than thinking of the Orlesians capturing and maybe executing him. Do you really think they might be holding him prisoner somewhere? How can we find out about prisons in Orlais? With as horrible as the Orlesians are, I expect there are loads of prisons there, which makes it difficult to guess where to start searching. Remember, though, I do speak Orlesian. If you ever decide to go searching there, you will have to take me along. Promise! _

_On the whole it must be very good news that someone saw the ship. If it didn't sink on the way to Wycome, there's a very good chance it didn't sink at all. Oh, please, please, please, may Andraste help you find Maric, and soon. And I am trying not to be scared about the pirates and slavers and Orlesians, although I'll admit it's a bit difficult at the moment, and frightens me for Maric's sake, and for your own._

_I do have some good news of my own to share. (Not nearly as good as you finding that sailor, but as exciting as it gets here in Ferelden these days). _

_Remember I told you Father was going to let me compete in the tournament?_

_I won!_

_Haha, well that's quite an overstatement, since Father didn't allow me to compete in the overall melee with all the experienced knights and Regulars and members of the guard. I only competed in the tirocinium, with the brand new knights. Still, Faolan and I won that event for our team. _

_Maker's breath, it was exciting. I'd only ever fought one-on-one before, and being part of a charge was quite a bit different than merely watching from the sidelines. It was terrifying and exciting and ridiculously noisy; I wasn't used to having so many things happening around me all at the same time. (Although Faolan wasn't scared at all, and loved being in the middle of all that action. He's incredibly brave). _

_In the end, I was the last one standing on my team; my opponent was a knight from Amaranthine, by the name of Tamra. She and I were so evenly matched, neither of us could properly beat the other, and after a while of us trying, the judge called a draw. It was a satisfying fight._

_In addition to the tirocinium, I came in fourth place in archery (certainly due to extreme laziness, ha ha). I also decided to challenge Ser Arthur (a knight who has been in my father's service for years) during his passage of arms. This raised a few eyebrows, but Ser Arthur treated me as a legitimate competitor, for which I was grateful. _

_Of course I couldn't best him one-on-one, and I hadn't expected to, really, but I lasted nearly ten minutes, which was as least as good as most of the others who fought him. He fights somewhat like you do, with a sword and shield, although he's not nearly as fast. He used more off-side than on-sides, and is entirely too skilled landing cuts and thrusts (I have bruises upon bruises to prove it), so clearly I need to work on a strategy to avoid those in the future. _

_I wish you had been there to see. (Although not to compete against me. Maker forbid! I'm sure I'll never be able to beat you in a duel). But I think you would have been proud of me. I don't mind if you take the credit for my performance. I could never have done this without you, and all the times you hit me really hard with your sword (or your shield, or your boot - you get the idea), and made me a better swordswoman. So, thank you._

_As a reward, Father has put me in command of my own unit of Highever Regulars. My very own command! So, now I am in charge of training them, and coordinating with the other unit commanders (including Fergus) to give them their assignments. Oriana is not at all happy about it. She says I'm being encouraged to focus on things that will not provide well for my future. I think she would prefer me to focus on my needlework and finding a husband. Apparently, women in Antiva do not fight. Fortunately, my parents don't agree. So far, everyone in my command seems more than willing to take orders from me. Most of them have known me for years anyway, since I spend so much time on the practice field. At any rate, it's very exciting. _

_Let's see, what else can I tell you? Well, there is this: when Faolan and I were out riding last week, we saw an animal, with the body of a lion, and the head and wings of an eagle. Her feathers and fur were pure, snowy white, and she was huge - at least as big as Maya the tiger, actually a bit bigger. I could have gotten on her back and ridden her, that's how big she was._

_I'm pretty sure she is a Griffin, which is interesting considering most everyone says they all died out many years ago. The Grey Wardens will be happy to know there are still some of them around. She was truly one of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen in my whole life, and of course I convinced her to come and live at the top of the tallest tower in Highever. Her name is Gwyn, and you'll be able to meet her when you come home. (The sooner the better)._

_And of course I haven't gotten married. Not even once, let alone three times. Bann Teagan asked me that while he and I were waiting together before Queen Anora's wedding. He said he thought maybe it wasn't my first wedding, and that a girl as pretty as me probably had a husband or two - or three - tucked away somewhere. He was just being silly, but it did make me laugh. I suppose it was a bit nice that he said I was pretty. In any case, don't be worried. I don't have any husbands tucked away somewhere. There's only one person I ever think about marrying, and I haven't seen him in just over a year. _

_Please, please, please write soon and tell me you have good news! The thought of having you - and King Maric - back in Ferelden makes me very, very happy._

_Love,_

_Rhianna_

_P.S. __Also, one of the stories above was completely made up. Can you guess which one? (No, it wasn't the one where I won the tirocinium. That really did happen). I made up the part about the griffin. I did find an injured goshawk, however, and she is currently recuperating on one of the castle's towers. I've never seen a bird like her; instead of being speckly brown, she is almost all white, with a few dark bars on her head and shoulders. She's very young, and was being mobbed by crows when I found her. I saved her, and she's agreed to come and live with me. She'll be safe here, and I've decided to train her so she can come hunting with me. I am calling her Gwyn, and I know you will absolutely love her. She is quite interesting, come to think of it, and I probably should have just told you about her from the start, but sometimes I worry my letters to you are ridiculously boring, so I threw in a griffin for you. You're welcome. Ha ha!_

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_22 Firstfall, 9:26 Dragon_

_Dear Loghain,_

_I'm sending another bird, even though you probably haven't gotten my previous message yet. But I have news. _

_My scouts (the dolphins) found King Maric's ship, in the Boeric Ocean, near one of the islands in the archipelago on the north side of Seheron. I've drawn in on a map where I think is the approximate location, based on the maps I have here. There is also a sketch of the way it looks from the water although I don't know how much help it will be. The ship lies in shallow water very near shore between a long island and a short one, and the smaller island has a big rocky point looming up. Part of the mast is visible, even at high tide, and at low tide, most of the ship is above the surface of the water. _

_Please be careful. They said parts of the ship look destroyed, as though it was sunk deliberately. Please, please, please be careful._

_~ Rhianna_

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_2 Wintersend, 9:27 Dragon_

_Dear Loghain,_

_The last bird came back without a message. She said you'd sent her away as soon as she delivered my letter. I hope that doesn't mean anything is wrong. Please write back when you can. I've instructed this bird to stay with the ship as long as necessary, unless you specifically tell her to leave. Did you find Maric's ship? Please write back so I know you're all right. _

_Rhianna_

_P.S. Happy Birthday! I know this won't reach you in time, but hopefully it will only be a few days late. Enclosed is the drawing you requested. I hope you like it. Sorry I keep giving you stupid drawings for your birthday. I promise someday you will get a proper gift from me. _

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A massive thank you (and lots of hugs) to my beta, Psyche Sinclair, and also to my reviewers: KrystylSky, Nascense, Doom-N-GloomGal, Psyche Sinclair, WardenVaer, Milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, GLCW2, and Mememoll. Thank you all so much for your encouragement and support!

The sketch Rhianna drew of herself for Loghain is posted at AO3; just follow the "Extras" link on my profile.


	38. No twist of fate (14 months at sea)

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15 Wintersend, 9:27 Dragon

Dearest Rhianna,

I apologize for not writing sooner. Things were difficult for a while, which is why I sent your bird away, but everything is fine now. Please don't worry. I promise, you have no reason to be worried.

Unfortunately, I have not been able to gather any new information about Maric. I know the sailors on this ship are discouraged, and ready to return home. In truth, I am beginning to feel that way myself. Clearly, wherever he is, it's not likely Maric is still at sea, and even if he were, it now seems that finding the _Demelza_, if indeed she is still afloat, will be more difficult than finding the needle in the proverbial haystack. More like finding a needle in an entire field of hay. Or perhaps finding a needle in the Bannorn.

If he is no longer at sea, searching by boat is not going to do a damned bit of good. And an expedition to search the rest of Thedas, over land . . . there is no money to do such a thing, and I feel certain Anora and Cailan both would balk at the suggestion. As you suggested, Orlais does have a lot of prisons. I don't know if it will ever be possible to search them, but if I do decide to try, I promise I will bring you with me. Your skill with the language would be invaluable. Not to mention your company. For now, though, the only place we have not yet considered is Par Vollen, so as soon as we've finished exploring the western reaches of the Colean Sea and gone around the north of Seheron, we'll make our way in that direction.

Congratulations on winning the tirocinium! That is an impressive accomplishment, as is your ten minutes against Ser Arthur (I have met him, and he is formidable). I am proud of you, and glad to hear all the years we've spent training had the desired effect. (Although I don't remember ever kicking you. I think you made that up). Clearly, your father is proud as well, to have entrusted you with your own command.

And don't pay any attention to Oriana. She is from Antiva; they do things differently there. Women don't train for combat, they learn how to make poisons instead. Perhaps you should ask her to give you some training in that regard. Might come in handy some day. Not that there is any urgent need for you to learn the art of poisoning. If you had gotten married three times while I was away, I might have a different opinion, but as it stands right now, you should be able to manage without poisons for a little while longer. But please do let me know if Teagan says you are pretty again. I might have to learn something about poisons myself if that happens.

Also, in case you didn't know this, I miss you. And my beloved Ferelden, as well.

Your letters are never boring, and you're right, the story of how you found your hawk was interesting, even without the addition of griffons. How is Gwyn coming along, by the way? You mentioned she was recuperating, but you didn't say what sort of injuries she sustained. Being mobbed by crows, I can imagine a variety of things. Crows are frighteningly smart, beautiful and deadly. Gwyn is fortunate you came across her when you did.

As for griffons, to be honest, for a moment I believed you had really found one. You can hardly blame me - if anyone could find a griffon, it would be you.

*strike*We had some trou*/strike*

*strike*I will write more*/strike*

I'm not sure if I should tell you this next thing, because I know it will upset you, and the last thing I want is for you to be worried. But you have been my faithful companion during this voyage, and you're not really a child any longer. So, I suppose you have earned the right to know.

We had a bit of a run-in with some pirates. When we left Minrathous, we were beset by a trio of ships as we went through the straits between Tevinter and Seheron. I only saw the name of the fastest one: the_ Siren's Call_. They tried to blockade us, but, thanks to some excellent sailing on the part of Captain Rackham and the crew, we evaded their grappling hooks, and outran them into open water. It was frightening, though. It also made me wonder if something similar happened to Maric's ship. Not pirates, though. The Orlesians have ample ships to form a blockade, and it was no secret Maric was traveling to the Free Marches.

Yours,

Loghain

P.S. The bird who is delivering this letter arrived carrying word from your scouts. That is brilliant, Rhianna, and we've already altered our course toward Seheron. Thank you, thank you, thank you. As soon as we arrive, I will let you know what we find. ~ L

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_28 Wintersend, 9:27 Dragon_

_Loghain,_

_Please come home now! The thought of pirates has scared me so much, and what if you're right about Orlais, and the empress sends ships after you, just like she sent after King Maric? Please come home. Please! I can't bear the thought of anything bad happening to you. _

_Rhianna_

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13 Draconis, 9:27 Dragon

Dearest Rhianna,

We found the ship. The water is shallow enough I was able to send divers down to investigate, and yes, your scouts were correct. It was indeed the_ Demelza_, and her proximity to shore suggests they wanted to run her aground, rather than sinking her in the open ocean. Furthermore, it appears the ship was set on fire before she sank.

That's not the only thing we found, however. On the island nearest the ship, we found clear evidence that people had landed, and even had time to set a large fire - possibly a signal fire, rather than anything meant for warmth.

Most important, I know for certain Maric was here; I found the amulet. The horrible Avvarian amulet? It was hanging on the backside of a tree not far from the remains of the fire. A letter "C" was carved into the bark just below where the amulet was hanging, as well as another symbol, probably a partial letter (a vertical line with the start of a horizontal line at the top), but I'm not sure which one. Possibly "B" or "E" or "R;" I've included a sketch of for you. I feel certain Maric himself put it there, and tried to leave us a message, but was interrupted. Perhaps it was meant to be the name of whomever sank the ship?

In any case, it was clear several months had passed since the time he was here, and there is not really any way for me to know where he headed (or was taken), considering there is water in all directions.

*strike*When we were search*/strike*

We thoroughly searched the entire island, and there was no other sign of him, nor anything to identify any of the others who might have been here. No one at all lives on the island, so trying to find witnesses was also an exercise in futility.

This leaves me to wonder what Maric was doing on the far side of Seheron in some far-flung group of islands. The identity of the people who attacked his ship is a mystery, as well. I can't explain why, but I feel more certain than ever Orlais is somehow behind Maric's disappearance. (The second letter could have been an "E," giving us the first two letters of Celene's name). The ship was sighted, sailing somewhere it was most assuredly not meant to be, and then forced aground and sank deliberately. In no way was this an accident. No twist of fate or wave of the Maker's hand made Maric disappear. Maric was here, and somehow got off this island again. I just don't know where to look next. So, we're going to stay in this archipelago for the time being, and search all of the islands, as well as the northern coast of Seheron. If he is here, I will find him. I promise.

Certainly, finding the ship has given all of us new motivation to continue. For the first time in months, I feel we are genuinely on his trail. Wish us luck. Nothing would make me happier than to sail into Highever with Maric, knowing you will be waiting at the wharf to greet us.

Please write back and tell me what you have been doing. Have you been to Denerim? Perhaps won another tournament? I am sorry I won't be there for the Festival of Wolves. I'm sure you will give an inspiring, beautiful performance once again in the role of your ancestress. Also, did I ever remember to thank you for the drawing you sent for my birthday? Probably not, so I will do so now. Thank you, Rhianna. I cannot tell me how happy it makes me to be able to see your face on paper, instead of being forced to rely only on my memory. You don't look quite the same as I remember; I can see the difference more than a year has made.

You're being ridiculous, though, for apologizing for sending me drawings. There is nothing - nothing - in all the world you could have given me that would have meant more to me, or have given me more pleasure, than your drawings. Don't insult us both by considering them improper gifts.

Yours,

Loghain

P.S. I can't come home, Rhianna. Not now, when I finally have found evidence of Maric's presence. I need you to try not to worry. I swear to you, we are not in any danger. We outran the pirates, and we'll do so again if necessary. But I genuinely do not think there will be more pirates coming after us, nor anyone sent by the empress. I've been at sea for a year and a half; if she had wanted to attack us, she would have done so by now. I've written to Anora (the usual way, a letter sent by a ship we flagged down at sea) to let her know I am finally on Maric's trail. We are running low on funds, but with just a little bit of luck, I won't be searching for much longer.

I miss you, and hope to see you very soon. Please don't be worried. I am far too stubborn to be killed on this voyage.

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_24 Cloudreach, 9:27 Dragon_

_Dearest Loghain,_

_I am trying not to worry. Truly I am. I am only partially successful. But I am trying. I promise. _

_I will admit to being very excited you found the amulet. Although I can't decide if it is a good thing, or a very, very, bad thing that King Maric doesn't have it with him anymore. Do Avvarian trickster gods sink ships? Or do you think maybe the amulet protected him enough so he was able to get to land safely? _

_Based on your sketch, I agree he could have been carving "CELENE" into the tree. And if not, what else could it be? Words that begin with C . . . The Colean Sea, or Carastes. Those are both places he could have been taken. Or perhaps he was trying to write "Crows?" Would Celene send Antivan assassins, or does she have enough of her own she wouldn't bother with that? _

_In any case, King Maric knew you would recognize the amulet, and know it was his - and of course, he would count on you being the one to find the island. He had to know you would be looking for him. So he would leave a message you would understand. He didn't carve anything else in the tree, did he? Or maybe leave some sort of map or a message drawn in the sand? That's what I would do, I think, if I were stranded on an island. _

_And it scared me to think he didn't get to finish whatever he was carving. Why not? Who stopped him? _

_I'm sorry to batter you with so many questions, it's just that I have so many new questions now you've actually found the ship. Isn't it supposed to work the other way around? That finding the ship would have given you more answers? (You don't have to answer that. It's, what is the word? Rhetorical? Yes, I think that's what I'm trying to say). _

_You asked what I have been doing. Last month was the Festival of Wolves, and again I performed in the play and nothing untoward happened. One thing that made me happy: Melethiel and Maya came to the festival this year. Do you remember them? The Dalish elf and the tiger who performed at Anora's wedding? She remembered my invitation to visit Highever, and I was able to convince Father to let them stay in the castle (in one of the storerooms - Maya is much to big to fit in one of the guest bedrooms). _

_It was so good to see them again, and they performed at the festival and everyone seemed to love them, and Melethiel and I talked a lot about animals and she told me about some of the places she has visited. It was the most interesting thing that has happened to me in ages. (And definitely the most pleasant interesting thing, considering the only other interesting thing I can remember just now is watching Sebastian Vael and his two lovers). _

_Oh! And you asked about Gwyn. She's doing well, and her injuries are mostly healed. The crows hadn't been at her very long when I found her, so she'd only sustained some pulled feathers and a few puncture wounds - no broken bones or anything like that, thankfully._

_There will be another tournament, but not until after the Landsmeet. To which, by the way, I will be going. Well, not the actual Landsmeet, but I'll travel to Denerim with Father. And Mother had a letter a few days ago from Lady Harriet, and in it was the news that Alysanne Krole is going to have a baby. I hope it will come out resembling Bann Krole, and not one of his knights. That would be awkward, wouldn't it? _

_I am struck by the fear this letter is incredibly boring. Yes, I've given you a lot of "news" from Ferelden, but nothing particularly noteworthy. Just the same things that always happen as we move through each year. But it isn't my fault, not really. Ferelden is boring when you're not here. Still, I apologize for not being more entertaining. You deserve at least that much from me, since I can't be there with you. But at the moment, I am feeling a bit desolate, knowing I'll be spending several weeks in Denerim without you there. As much as I miss you when I'm here in Highever, it's so much worse in Denerim, because that's where I usually get to see you, and all I can think about are the adventures we've had together, and how we won't have any this year. And then I feel horribly selfish and guilty for wanting you to return home, because I would never want you to abandon King Maric, or stop searching for him, especially not because I was whinging about missing you. _

_Really, the truth is you should have taken me with you, even though I would have been terrified by the pirates._

_Oh, there is one other thing I should mention. One evening at dinner, I made the mistake of mentioning you had found Maric's ship (well, it's not like I could keep news like that to myself, right?), and Father asked how I knew this, and I had to admit I have been corresponding with you. So, of course he asked how this was happening, since he hadn't seen any messengers arrive by horse, and how was I getting messages back to you anyway while you were away at sea? And I didn't want to lie (even if I could have thought of something plausible, which is unlikely), so I had to explain about the the birds delivering our letters, and then I had to explain about the thing I can do, and for a few days both Mother and Father seemed worried I was some sort of maleficar or abomination, and that templars were going to show up on our doorstep and drag me away to Kinloch Hold. _

_In the end, though, I managed to convince them it's not any kind of magic. I just listen more closely than most people are willing to do. And it's not like they hadn't noticed just how much animals like me. I think everyone who knows me knows that much, at least. So, it turned out all right, but it was a bit uncomfortable for a while. Fergus was wonderful, since he already knew my 'secret,' and was able to assure them there was nothing magical about it. Have I ever actually said just how much I love my brother? I think I probably complain about him more than I say good things, but that's ridiculous of me. Fergus is wonderful. He is the best brother I could ever imagine, and I love him so very much. I wouldn't want him to be any different than how he is. _

_I am very hopeful the next time I hear from you, you will be writing to tell me you found King Maric. Of course, if you don't have time to write before you just arrive here in Highever, I won't mind that at all, either. You know where to find me. Well, except during August when I'll be stuck in Denerim, so if that's when you're coming back, you should just go directly there. _

_Yours,_

_Rhianna_

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As always, an enormous THANK YOU to my beta, Psyche Sinclair, and to my wonderful reviewers: Nascense, KatDancer2, Hannahhobnob, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Milly-finalfantasy, WardenVaer, Hugs4Every1, and GLCW2.

Also, a special thank you to GLCW2, for catching my mistake about cannons on the_ Siren's Call_, as well as cannon rounds visible in the hull of the_ Demelza_. You're right - only the Qunari have that technology, so I've adjusted the text accordingly. :)


	39. Unable to speak the words (19 months)

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4 Justinian, 9:27 Dragon

Dear Rhianna,

For three months we have searched the archipelago, and found no additional clues as to Maric's whereabouts. After finding the amulet, I have great hope he is still alive. If we do not find him in Seheron, however, I am not sure where to look next.

I think you would enjoy the area we are now sailing. The weather is nothing like it is in Ferelden. It is hot all the time. Not just warm, but hot. Most of the crew (myself included) have taken to going shirtless much of the day, as it's too warm to wear excess clothing.

Not to imply you would enjoy watching a bunch of shirtless sailors. What I am sure you would enjoy are the birds.

So many different birds, in brilliant colors. Not so much out over the water, but whenever we stop to scout around on the islands, we see and hear huge flocks of them. Most are roughly the size of merlins, although some varieties are smaller, and some are much, much larger. The captain says they're called "parrots," and they have huge curved beaks, and four toes, two of which point to the front, and two of which point to the rear, and they squawk in the loudest, most raucous voices imaginable.

My favorites are rather small, about the size of a song thrush, but with amazing colors: emerald green and bright blue and red and yellow. There are huge flocks chattering at us wherever we go. I may try and capture one and bring it back for you. Some of the sailors say they can be taught to talk - actually talk, like people do. Of course you don't require anything of the sort in order to communicate, but it's certainly an interesting possibility.

And finally, I have found the time to write the essay you requested. About water. (I'll wager you thought I had forgotten, hadn't you)?

Having now sailed through dozens of discrete types of water, I consider myself something of an expert. I have found the brightest blues happen when the sun is shining; cloudy skies tend to encourage greens. Blue-greens invade the spectrum when winds are high and the sea is choppy. Sometimes, when we are near enough to shore after a storm, the ocean appears milky brown (I'll admit this is not my favorite). Teal appears as we near land, changing - often abruptly - to turquoise very near shore. Occasionally a sliver of turquoise or teal can be found farther from land, and these areas we give a wide berth, as it is generally caused by an underwater reef or sandbar near the surface.

The steeliest of blues, hardly even blue but more gray in character, are a sure sign of inclement weather, and the flattest grey of all appears in the rain, when the clouds and the sky and sea are no more than shades of the same hue, and for a time, it is almost as though all color has been drained from the landscape.

As much as I love the brilliant daytime colors, there is also something about the sea at night - not quite darkest black, but something just this side of it - I find comforting. And the sight of moonlight on the water, a brilliant yellow-white streak, shimmering like paint on a wet canvas, is as beautiful as anything I've ever seen.

Out of respect for the bird carrying this letter, I shall leave it there. (Although certainly I could have elaborated further. The sea changes her face so frequently, and so quickly, I could write pages and pages. But even though you kindly offered to read whatever I took the time to write, somehow I doubt your interest would stretch quite that far, so I will spare you).

Instead, I shall finish this letter by replying to the one that recently arrived from you.

I have wondered the same things about the amulet. It seems to me it must have kept him safe, at least to some degree, since he managed to get to the island and leave it there for me to find. I know I said Imhar seemed a bit dodgy, but perhaps I was wrong. I will admit I have said a prayer or two to him myself, in the hope he can guide me to Maric. To answer your other questions, I did look for carvings or sand drawings, but it had been months since Maric left the island, and if he did try to leave some other message, it was long since eroded by the wind and the weather. And yes, rhetorical is the correct word. Quite a good one.

I'm glad the festival went well, and you were able to renew your acquaintance with Melethiel and Maya. The memory of Maya still makes me a bit nervous. Her paws were unusually large, with claws of equal proportion. Not to mention her teeth. Still, she is incredibly beautiful, and I have no doubt you are safe with her.

The Kroles are expecting a child? That is certainly good news, although you're right; it would be awkward for Alysanne Krole's baby to come out looking like one of his knights. Although those things certainly do happen, perhaps more often than you might expect. Nobles in particular are very good at ignoring the obvious when it suits them. Either way, I have no doubt Krole will claim the infant as his own. As I recall, he needs an heir.

I'm relieved to hear you told your parents about your ability. They love you, and deserve to know the truth. Besides, at some point it was going to become increasingly difficult to explain certain aspects of your life. For example, I have no doubt the "training" of your new hawk will be accomplished in approximately one day, rather than the years it normally takes a falconer to properly train a bird to hunt without having it fly away and never be seen again. They might have noticed something like that, and now they will understand why and there will be no awkwardness about it.

Finally, as I am half-way across the world, and your birds seem to be taking a very long time now to make the trip back and forth, I will take this opportunity to wish you a Happy Birthday. I regret this year you will have to wait for your present until I return to Ferelden. It is something that would almost certainly not survive being transported by bird, even a bird with the very best of intentions. So you will have to be patient, but I believe you will find it worth the wait.

Yours,

LMT

P.S. Your letters are never boring. Looking forward to your letters, and then savoring them when they arrive, is my greatest pleasure on this interminable voyage. It is what keeps me going when I am discouraged, and gives me comfort when I feel desolate in the dark of night. Without you writing to me, I think I would have died months ago from the boredom and frustration and disappointment at each day that passes with no sign of Maric.

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_23 Solace, 9:27 Dragon_

_Dear Loghain, _

_Is it horrible of me to hope the birthday gift you have for me is you? To hope this means you're on your way back to Ferelden? I very much doubt the birds would be able to deliver you to me, so that part of the clue fits perfectly. And the idea of having you home gives me so much joy. A joy nearly equaled by the guilt I feel if anything I have said encourages you to abandon King Maric. If, for example, I were to tell you just how much I miss you. So, I shan't say any of those things. Please pretend you never read any of what I wrote up above, all right? Thank you._

_Let's start again. _

_Dear Loghain, _

_The birds sound marvelous! I should love to be able to see them. Don't feel bad, though, if you can't catch one. If they live in such big flocks, I suspect just one taken away from its friends and family might get lonely. The idea they can be taught to talk like people, though, is quite exciting. I would very much like to hear it someday. _

_And, even though I think you meant it as a joke, the things you wrote about the ocean were lovely. She is expressive in her various moods, isn't she? And beautiful in so many ways. Thank you for writing about the colors. I enjoyed it more than I could have imagined. _

_We leave tomorrow for Denerim. Other than that, not much of interest has happened. My birthday was nice. The whole family went out for a sail, because the weather was absolutely beautiful. Again, I tried to find one of your gigantic turtles, but they seem to be avoiding me for some reason. Perhaps they're all staying close to your ship, to give you good luck and protection. _

_We had a picnic on the island where the other Alamarri ruin lies - do you remember when I told you about it? And how I joked about not going there because you didn't like boating (after King Maric had just finished teasing you about it)? Strange to think you've now spent nearly two years on a ship. I would suggest you and I visit these island ruins together when you get back, but I won't be offended if you have no desire to go out on the water again anytime soon. To be honest, you're not missing out on much (especially after the adventures you've had at sea). The ruins are nice, but not so incredibly nice you should feel bad about not seeing them. And as far as I can tell, they are werewolf-free, which makes them far less interesting than the ones near Highever Castle._

_It feels a bit strange to be fifteen. Fifteen. I can't really call myself a little girl anymore, can I? But I'm still nowhere near being grown up. It will be interesting to see if being fifteen means I can stay with the adults at the salons. Although, even if I can't, Habren (who is, unfortunately, allowed back in Denerim again this year), is seventeen now, so she surely won't be sent out to play with the children. Maybe that means I should hope I'm not yet considered a grown-up, and might be able to escape Habren entirely. Not Thomas, though. Since we're the same age, I'm probably stuck with him no matter what happens. _

_I'll try to write more in my next letter. This one is very short, but only because nothing much has been happening here in dreary old Ferelden. _

_Love, _

_Rhianna_

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29 August, 9:27 Dragon

Dearest Rhianna,

When this bird arrived, I had yet to even start a new letter for you. What a terrible correspondent I am, and I do apologize for this. I'm just . . . well, I think I've been on this damned ship for too long, and every night, when I sat down and tried to write, I couldn't think of anything remotely interesting to tell you. I know you have worried your letters to me were boring, which they have never been, not even once. Unlike the letters I have sent you, which I know without a doubt are painfully dull.

But what is there to say? There was another storm three nights ago. We had fish for breakfast, lunch and dinner, plus an orange for each of us to make sure we avoid scurvy. We saw a lot of water today. We searched three islands last week and found not even a shred of evidence Maric might have passed this way.

I could in no way imagine you would enjoy reading any of those things, so I thought to spare you from them, in the hope something worthy of writing would happen the following day. But nothing has happened, not for days. Weeks. Months, even. Which would leave me with nothing but blank parchments to send.

Until today, when your bird arrived with a new letter. So, you will be my inspiration for whatever I manage to convey in this particular missive.

You are right in thinking I won't have much desire to travel by boat after returning to Ferelden. If the ruins are worthy of a visit, however, I will be more than happy to see them, provided you are the one to take me there. At this point, the lack of werewolves seems a good thing. I don't like the idea of you facing those creatures again, especially while I'm away. But after a few more months aboard this ship, I might welcome the excitement a nice den of werewolves would provide.

Fifteen is, indeed, too old to consider yourself a little girl. Perhaps your father will take you with him to at least some of the Landsmeet sessions. I am trying to remember what age Anora was when I took her with me. Perhaps not quite as young as fifteen, but she wasn't much older. By seventeen, certainly. And I have no doubt you would enjoy sitting in. You would really not believe some of the things the Bannorn finds to argue about. It's very entertaining, at least at first, until you realize they're seriously fighting about who owns an apple tree and neither side has the intention of compromising in any way, and then it starts to grate on the nerves. But I imagine even that would be more entertaining than being glared at by Habren. Either way, good luck avoiding the Bryland girl, and even if you are stuck with her, just remember she is only so horrid to you because she is jealous. It would be sad, really, if she weren't so nasty about it. She must be very unhappy with herself and her own life to be so dreadful to you.

*strike*I can't think of anything else to write, to I suppose I will si*/strike*

_a blot of ink on the parchment _

While I am not ready to admit this to anyone else (least of all myself), I will confess to you I am becoming discouraged. We have searched the entire archipelago, and as much of Seheron as can be managed by boat, and have found nothing but uninhabited jungles, or towns filled with Qunari (which we did our best to avoid, rather than risk being captured and forced to "convert" to their religion). There are still a few Tevinter settlements, as well, who struggle (in vain, no doubt) against their Qunari conquerors. And just once, we encountered an encampment of Fog Warriors, humans native to the region who wish to be free of both the Qun and the Imperium, and they gave us a warm welcome, but had seen nothing to help us in our quest.

When we first found Maric's ship, and then the amulet, it seemed we were back on Maric's trail. But now, with every day that passes, I feel Maric slipping farther and farther away. When the captain asks me each morning in which direction we should sail, I find it harder and harder to give her an answer.

Will you be disappointed if I admit I am starting to consider giving up? Not giving up on Maric. I refuse to believe he is dead. *strike*In spite of*/strike* I just refuse to believe it. But perhaps it is time to stop sailing around the world in search of him. Now the _Demelza_ lies beneath the waves, what are the chances I will locate him on, or from the sea? Especially if he is on another ship. He might have been on any of the dozens of ships we've sailed past during this voyage, and I had no way of knowing he was there.

The trouble is, I don't know how to stop. Every night I lay in my berth and tell myself in the morning, I'll be ready to turn around and sail for home. But the next morning, when the captain asks if I want her to change course, I am unable to speak the words to make it happen. I have often been accused of being too stubborn for my own good. For the first time in my life, I am beginning to wonder if it is true.

At any rate, I meant what I said in my last letter. Your letters are never boring, and nothing gives me more pleasure than the sight of a bird approaching this ship with such purpose, and a small parcel tied around her neck. Perhaps you are right, and I should have brought you with me. But if I had, I wouldn't have the pleasure of your letters. That's backwards, isn't it? Surely, the real you would be better than pen and ink. I would pay any amount of money to hear your laughter right now. Even to hear you tell me I'm being "silly" about something. (You do realize "silly" is not a particularly dignified thing to be, and yet you have persisted over the years in referring to me in this way. Why is this? No one else on earth could have gotten away with calling me "silly" all this time. Not even Maric. Especially not Maric. You should feel special).

Well, I hope you already know how special you are. If not, I have been an even worse friend than I could have ever imagined. So let me say it bluntly: you are precious to me, Rhianna. As precious as anyone has ever been. I don't think I would have made it this far without your letters and your encouragement. And please don't stop telling me I am silly, at least not when I'm genuinely being silly. That would be even crueler than the business with Lady Harriet's cats and their bonnets, and would surely break my heart.

I think I might be rambling now and not making much sense, and perhaps I shouldn't drink more than one tankard of ale before sitting down to write. But I need you to understand how much your correspondence means to me.

Love,

Loghain

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_12 Kingsway, 9:27 Dragon_

_Dear Loghain,_

_Please don't hate me for saying this. It's hard for me to be certain what I'm saying is coming purely from a desire to do what is best for you, and not just me being selfish, but I genuinely do think it would be best for you to come home. _

_Of course I want you to come home because I miss you and am worried about your safety. But after reading your last letter, I also think you should come home for your own sake. You're right: wherever King Maric is, he is not at sea on a ship you will be able to find. And he's not likely to be wandering around on a beach somewhere, either. If there was word of him to be had, you would have found him by now. Maybe it is time to go about this some other way. I sent out scouts in the ocean; I'll just have to think of a way to do the same on land. _

_Please tell the captain to turn the ship back toward Ferelden. __It doesn't mean you've abandoned King Maric. He wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life wandering around on the ocean, unhappy and not having a chance of finding him anyway. _

_Enough of that. I'm not sure why I think you would care about my opinions anyway. I'm only fifteen; what do I know about anything? So, if anything I have written is inappropriate or overstepping my place, please just pretend you never read it, okay? _

_Oh, and just so you know, your letters are never, ever boring. Just the fact you bothered to continue writing to me all this time - to me, of all people - means more than I could ever say. I have cherished every single word, every stroke of the pen, you have sent to me. So don't be silly and think your letters were somehow lacking. (Did you like how I worked in that word? I thought you would appreciate it). _

_My visit to Denerim came and went. Father and I went by ourselves, and spent the entire month in the city. Unfortunately, I didn't attend any of the actual Landsmeet, so I missed out on all the fighting about apple trees. But I did get to go loads of salons. I'm sure you can imagine how happy that made me feel. (Oh. I probably shouldn't have mentioned salons, should I? Now you'll be jealous about all the fun I'm having while you're away at sea. But I feel like I deserve to gloat just a little bit. I did get to spend several days with Habren after all. It turns out fifteen is old enough that I am no longer sent out to play with the children, so I was stuck with her. It wasn't too awful, though, as she pretends to be pleasant when adults are around). _

_One nice thing did happen. In addition to an interminable number of salons, I finally went riding with Anora (as you suggested ages ago) and it was lovely. She and I went on a picnic together just outside of the city to a strange sort of garden. There were statues everywhere, but the whole place was in disrepair - overgrown and kind of ruined. Some of the statues were standing and some were just laying on the ground, and Anora said it had been a public park at one time, but then people stopped coming, after Queen Rowan died and King Maric . . . well, when he was too sad to pay much attention to something as unimportant as a garden. Anora intends to fix it up, so people will start coming to see the statues again. _

_Did you know there is a statue of you? It's a bit scary, really - you're giving a war cry with your sword raised high in the air, and it doesn't look like you at all, except for your hair. Still, it's rather fantastic to think there is a statue of you! There are also statues of King Maric, and Queen Rowan. And one of Sarim Cousland, which I thought was funny. Anora tried to tell me she could see a family resemblance, but I know she was joking because the statue didn't even have a nose anymore! _

_I can't decide if I would love for someone to make a statue of me someday, or if I think it's the worst idea ever. I mean, it must be a good thing for someone to think highly enough of you to make a statue, but the idea it's just there forever afterward - and maybe losing body parts along the way - is a bit disturbing. So perhaps I shall make an effort to never do anything quite noteworthy enough to warrant the making of a statue. They don't make statues of people who just do their best to be good, responsible teyrnas, do they?_

_Oh, and I sort of told Anora about my secret. Well, I didn't "sort of" tell her; I completely told her. Like you said would happen with my parents, she was asking about Gwyn, and how I had managed to train a hawk so quickly. I'm not sure why I told her everything, though. I'm sure I could have made up a satisfactory story. I think maybe I just needed a friend, what with you having been away so long. And Anora has always been kind to me. Plus, she is your daughter so I expect she is trustworthy. _

_Anyhow, I told her about what I can do, and also about the birds, so now she knows you and I have been writing to one another all this time. I told her a few of the things you'd written, but nothing I thought you might want to keep secret. _

_On the subject of Anora, she and King Cailan are here in Highever right now, for the tournament taking place in three days. Which is very exciting and wonderful, and also a bit scary. I hope I don't do something ridiculous while they're watching (because yes, I'll compete again, although Father hasn't given permission for me to join the melee. I still have some time to convince him, though). Still, on the whole I'm very pleased. It's been a while since we've had visitors. Well, other than the Howes and they don't really count. I know Arl Howe doesn't like me very much. I think he still hasn't forgiven me for breaking Thomas' nose ten years ago. And the arlessa never says anything to me at all; she just stares down her nose and it's a bit terrifying, to be honest. _

_Oh. And one other thing happened in Denerim that might interest you. Hopefully you won't be horribly disappointed in me, because I did something sort of bad. Well, what it boils down to is I overheard a conversation I really shouldn't have heard. _

_I was in the labyrinth in the garden at the Amaranthine estate, sort of hiding in one corner because I'd had enough of Habren and Thomas and I didn't think they'd bother to look for me in the labyrinth. And there was a hedgehog who was being quite cute, so we were playing together. What I didn't realize is I was sitting directly behind the garden arbor. Lady Harriet and Arl Howe and Urien Kendalls all came to sit (I recognized their voices), just on the other side of the hedge, and they started talking. I know I should have snuck away and not listened, but before I realized what was happening they started talking about me, and I couldn't bring myself to leave._

_Anyway, Arl Howe said it was 'high time' my parents decided on a husband for me, now I'm fifteen, even though he felt sorry for my poor future husband, considering how 'reckless' and 'malicious' I am. Then Lady Harriet agreed about me being malicious, and said the entire political structure of Ferelden was being 'destabilized' because I wasn't betrothed to anyone yet. Something about all of the young men waiting to see who would get to marry me before any of them proposed to all the other young women waiting around for husbands. She thinks it's my fault Habren hasn't had any marriage proposals yet, in spite of being seventeen and plenty old enough to be betrothed. I sincerely doubt it has anything to do with me, though, and everything to do with the fact that Habren is horrid (sadly, the year away from Denerim didn't change that; she's still as nasty as ever). _

_All three of them agreed that even if my parents were squeamish about me getting married right away, they should at least make an arrangement with someone. Arl Kendalls wants me to marry Vaughan, but only because he didn't think my father would agree for me to marry the arl himself. Which sounds dreadful. Vaughan Kendalls makes me nervous. And of course Arl Howe wants me to marry one of his sons, which probably means Thomas, since Nathaniel still hasn't come back from the Free Marches. Father did say Thomas really is going to be the one Arl Howe names as his heir. Which is horrible for Amaranthine. And horrible for me, if Father and Mother decide they want me to marry Arl Howe's heir. _

_Anyway, after hearing all this I'm afraid any day now my parents are going to tell me they've arranged a marriage for me. Are Lady Harriet and the others right? Maybe fifteen is too old for me to not yet be spoken for. I don't think it's too old. After all, Fergus wasn't betrothed to anyone at this age. He was eighteen when he met Oriana. But it's different for boys, isn't it?_

_So, I've decided if that happens - if they try to make me marry someone horrible - I'll just run away from home, and do what Melethiel does. I'll get some animals - really dangerous, scary ones - and take them around to festivals and faires and maybe travel all over Thedas (except Orlais; I don't want to go there). The more I think about it, the more it sounds like the best idea ever. I won't be in any danger no matter where I go, because I'll have the animals to protect me, and we can earn money by performing. And I'll get to travel anywhere I want to go. And, I won't have to worry about becoming the wife of Thomas or Vaughan or Arl Urien or someone else awful. So, running away seems like a very good option. _

_Unless you want to marry me yourself. That would be much better than my animal idea. Although both might be good, too. Would you mind if we kept a menagerie in Gwaren? (Ha ha. I'm joking about this. Unless you really wouldn't mind having a menagerie, in which case I'm not joking)._

_Ferelden is not the same without you. Please come home._

_Love,_

_Rhianna_

•

•o•o•o•o•o•

•

_16 Kingsway, 9:27 Dragon_

_L, _

_Anora asked me if I could have one of my birds deliver a letter to you. Of course I agreed. I don't know exactly what it says, but I get the feeling she was unhappy about the last letter you sent to her, one that came by a regular messenger. I hope that's all it is, and it wasn't anything I told her that made her unhappy. Her letter is enclosed. _

_~ R_

•o•

_**16 Kingsway, 9:27 Dragon**_

_**Dearest Father, **_

_**Rhianna has very generously offered to make sure this letter reaches you much more quickly than any way I could devise. **_

_**I am writing to request that you return to Ferelden, on behalf of myself, Cailan, and a united Bannorn. In one of your recent letters, you spoke of your suspicions that the Orlesians were behind the disappearance of King Maric's ship, but you readily admit you have no evidence to support this beyond a single letter carved into a tree. I fear you are allowing yourself to be driven by your hatred for Orlais far beyond the point where it is reasonable. To be honest, I had intended to call you home months ago, but then you sent word you had found Maric's ship, so I let it go a while longer. **_

_**You must know I truly wish you had been successful in your quest. I loved Maric, and I am heartbroken to know he is truly gone. But he is truly gone. It is time to accept that fact, and put this fruitless search behind you. Return to Ferelden where you are needed. Gwaren needs you. Cailan needs you. I need you. As well, the royal coffers can no longer afford the expense of your travel. **_

_**Please set a course for Denerim immediately. It is what Maric would want, Father. You know as well as I do he would not have wanted you to waste the rest of your life chasing after a ghost. Upon your return, we shall hold a funeral for him, something that should have happened a long time ago. And then we will all move forward with our lives, having mourned his loss but knowing we are ready to continue on without him.**_

_**Lovingly,**_

_**Anora**_

•

•o•o•o•o•o•

•

19 Harvestmere, 9:27 Dragon

Rhianna,

I am returning to Ferelden. I expect to arrive in Denerim sometime during the last half of Firstfall. Please ask your parents to bring you to the capital; there will be a state funeral for Maric as soon as I have returned.

It is at Anora's request I am coming back to Ferelden, and I know it is the right thing to do. You know this as well, that much was clear from your last letter. Even so, I can't shake the feeling there is something more I could do, that there must be something more I could do. And that somehow, I am betraying the man who was my best friend for most of my life.

The only thing that truly pleases me about returning home is knowing I will see you.

LMT

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_A huge thank you to my marvelous beta Psyche Sinclair, and also to my lovely reviewers: WardenVaer, Hugs4Every1, Shadowfang, Umm, Psyche Sinclair, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Nascense, GLCW2, KrystylSky, and Milly-finalfantasy._

_And another shout-out to Umm for the 150th review! Thanks for your continuing support! :)_


	40. After two long years

**_25 Firstfall, 9:27 Dragon  
_****_Denerim_**

•o•

Standing at the prow of the ship, Loghain felt disoriented, out of time and place, as he watched Denerim grow steadily closer. So much had changed since he last sailed into this port more than two years ago - or perhaps it was just that he himself had changed - but at least one thing was the same. She had been waiting for him then, too.

As the ship entered the harbor, and the wharf came fully into view, he saw them standing there: a young woman, her dog at her side. She looked taller, and her hair was longer than the last time he'd seen her, and what had been a small bundle of fur in her lap was now an enormous full-grown mabari. If he hadn't suspected she would come to meet the ship, that she would somehow manage to know exactly when he would arrive, he might not have recognized her after two years away.

After gliding silently the last few yards of its journey, the ship bumped against the wharf, the impact echoing through Loghain's bones. Deck hands jumped off to tie the_ Angharad_ securely to the cleats, and Loghain felt a surprising flare of impatience erupt in his chest. He wanted them to hurry and lower the gangway; he was eager to step off this ship for the last time. To be reunited with his beloved Ferelden. To be reunited with Rhianna.

Not that he was happy, exactly, to be home. But he was resigned to it. When Anora's letter had reached him, Loghain knew it was finished. He still believed Maric was alive. He wasn't ready to believe otherwise, in spite of what he'd found on the island, the single thing he had deliberately kept from Rhianna in the letters he had written. But what he believed no longer mattered. He had run out of places to search, and spent all the money in the royal treasury. Perhaps his daughter was right: it was time to stop looking. If the Maker had wanted Maric found, surely Loghain would have found him by now.

His breath sped up as the gangway thumped against the wooden dock. He was home. After two long years, he was home.

•o•o•o•o•o•

After two years, two ridiculously long years, she could hardly believe he was here. The ship bumped against the dock, and deck hands jumped off to secure the lines. And there he was, at the railing of the main deck, the wind blowing his hair away from his face. Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of him; he was even handsomer than she remembered. That seemed impossible, but it was true. Best of all, he was _here_.

Loghain was home.

Rhianna resisted the urge to run a hand over her hair; hopefully, it hadn't gotten too messy from being blown by the wind while she'd waited on the dock. She'd worn her favorite dress, wine-colored, with fabric the color of peaches inset in the bodice. She looked down at herself, at the way the dress hung from her shoulders, a funny feeling gnawing at her stomach.

Hopefully it wasn't a mistake, wearing a dress. What if Loghain thought it strange she'd worn a dress, when she so often wore trousers when they went places together? What if he thought she'd dressed up for his sake, and thought it was silly, or childish?

No, that was ridiculous. Of course he wouldn't think it was strange. She'd worn dresses before. She wore dresses most of the time. So why was she feeling so anxious?

Because in the past, she hadn't cared quite so much about whether or not she looked . . . pretty. And today she wanted, very much, for Loghain to think she was pretty.

Either way, it was too late to worry about it now. Calm. Just be calm. It was stupid to be this worried. This was _Loghain_, for crying out loud, and she'd seen him a hundred times before. It shouldn't feel this strange, this uncomfortable. The dress was fine. Her hair was fine. Hopefully. Again, she almost reached up to smooth down her hair, but managed to force herself not to fuss with it.

Loghain came down the gangway, stopping briefly to speak to a boy on the wharf, and then walked over to greet her. Rhianna searched his face, allowing her eyes to crawl over each of his features in turn. His skin had been darkened by so much time in the sun, the lines at the corners of his eyes etched more deeply than before, but his eyes were as clear and blue as she remembered. The set of his mouth, however, made her stomach feel hollow. He wasn't frowning, exactly, but there was tension there, a tightness in his jaw, the slight squint of his eyes.

He looked . . . unsettled. Was he angry with her? Maybe it was stupid to have come here like this. Why had she assumed she, of all people, would be the one he would first want to see?

The letters they had written to one another over the past two years, the precious words he sent her, had made her think he would be happy to see her, but perhaps she had read too much into them. Really, it was more likely he was so lonely on the voyage he would have been happy for _anyone_ to write to him while he was far away from home.

But that, too, was silly. She and Loghain had been friends for years. He liked her. He had told her she was his friend, that he enjoyed her company, on more than one occasion. Of course he would be happy to see her. He'd said so, in his last letter. "_The only thing that truly pleases me about coming home is knowing I will see you_."

But what if things had changed? What if _he_ had changed? What if everything they once had together faded away, somehow, while he was gone?

No. No, that was ridiculous.

She needed to stop being so stupid. He was looking down at her, a vague frown forming on his lips, probably waiting for her to say something. She needed to say something, but couldn't quite bring herself to speak.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Loghain descended the gangway and, after hiring a boy to make certain his baggage was delivered to the Gwaren estate, walked over to greet Rhianna. Her expression looked rather grim as she stared at him, unsmiling, almost as if she didn't know what to make of him. Perhaps he looked different. Or perhaps he was imagining things, and it was just that she looked so different herself.

Somewhere in her features still lurked the girl he had left behind two years before, but at the same time, she looked foreign, unfamiliar. The lines of her face had shifted, were sharper in some places, and softer in others. All traces of roundness, of baby fat, were gone now, leaving behind cheekbones that were high and straight. Her pale face was framed by dark hair that was windblown, looking slightly wild. Feral, almost. She reached up and tucked an errant strand back behind her ear.

Only her eyes were entirely the same: large and dark green, their color set off by the contrasting burgundy of her dress. Around her neck was the ammonite pendant he had sent for her fourteenth birthday.

He had never seen her look quite so lovely as she did right now.

One thing was absolutely clear: she was no longer a child. She was not yet a woman. Not quite. But the little girl he left behind two years ago was gone. The girl with her mischievous smile and her infectious laughter. A girl small enough to sit in his lap, to tell him he was silly, and kiss him on the cheek.

That girl was gone. Forever. He felt a tightness in his chest, as though something had been lost.

No. It wasn't loss at all, but a wave of anxiety.

But why? Why did he feel so nervous about this? Yes, she looked different, but this was _Rhianna_. A girl he knew as well as he had ever known anyone; a girl who knew him as well as he had ever been known. Surely everything would be all right.

Except . . . what if it wasn't? What if the years had changed her in some way their relationship would be unable to weather? Such a thing seemed impossible, given the correspondence they had shared. If anything, he felt closer to her than ever before. But the way she was looking at him, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted, as though she were unsettled, or frightened, he wondered if perhaps she didn't feel the same. But surely, if she hadn't wanted to see him, she wouldn't have come all this way, and been waiting for him when the ship arrived.

He needed to say something, but he wasn't sure where to start. Which of the myriad things in his head or his heart to say first. So he greeted her in the simplest way possible.

•o•o•o•o•o•

"Rhianna."

It was just one word, but as soon as he said it, she knew she'd been right to come. His eyes softened when he spoke, and he didn't smile, exactly, but some of the tension went out of his face, and he looked the way she remembered him. Friendly and gentle, his eyes saying more than he ever said with words.

No part of her could deny, or try to hide, just how happy she was to have him back home in Ferelden. And she didn't have to hide it, because this was _Loghain_, and in the space of a heartbeat everything was perfect again, and she knew she had been foolish to have ever worried at all.

•o•o•o•o•o•

She smiled at him, and her eyes flooded with warmth and in an instant she was, once again, the girl he knew so very well. He released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, and opened up his arms. She stepped into the embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist, and tucking her face against his shoulder.

She was taller now, just a couple of inches, but enough for him to notice. She felt good against him, comfortable. Warm. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair, a scent so familiar he ached to realize just how much he had missed her during the time he'd been away.

When they pulled apart from one another, somewhat reluctantly, Rhianna took a step back, taking his hands in her own.

"Welcome back, Teyrn Loghain. It is so very good to have you home."

He felt relief at the sincerity in her tone. Not just relief, though; there was another feeling as well. For the first time in weeks – in months, perhaps – he felt something close to happiness. He squeezed her hands, glad to be home. Or, glad to be here with her, at any rate.

He took a deep breath, and let it out again. "It is good to see you, Rhianna. I . . . I missed you while I was gone."

That was an understatement. Once they began writing to one another, not a single day passed when he did not think about her. When he did not squirrel away in his head something he wanted to tell her. When he didn't see something he wished she had also been there to see. And her letters. Funny and honest and filled with so much of her personality. Just the fact she had gone to such effort to correspond with him . . . it was one of the most generous, thoughtful, meaningful things another person had ever done for him.

So yes, he had missed her.

But there was more to it than that. He might have ignored Anora's request to return home if he hadn't been concerned about Rhianna, and all that talk about her being married off to someone right away. The thought that he might return to Ferelden to find her betrothed - or worse, wed - to another man had panicked him to no small degree.

He wasn't sure he wanted to admit just how much the idea upset him, especially not now, standing face to face with the girl who had inspired those feelings. Nor did he want to listen to the small voice in his head - a voice remarkably like Maric's - that wanted him to admit just how accustomed he had become to the idea he would, indeed, marry her someday.

Somewhere along the way, during his voyage, as he read and reread her letters, what had seemed ridiculous and impossible had started to seem plausible. She had made a few comments about it herself, subtle comments indicating she liked the idea. And over time, it began to seem reasonable. Not yet, of course; she was still far too young. But someday. He could speak to Bryce now, arrange for them to be wed in three or four years. After a few initial twitters about a man his age marrying a girl so young, no one would find it at all remarkable. Or so he had decided while the ship made its way across the Amaranthine Ocean, back to Ferelden.

He didn't want this for the reasons most people would assume. He didn't _want_ her in some inappropriate way. He didn't see her as a grown woman, he genuinely couldn't think of her like that_. _Not yet.

No, he wanted to marry her merely to keep her near. So he could be assured of always having her company. Her laughter. Her conversation. So he could see her smile, and know sometimes he was the cause of those smiles. He wanted her companionship and her honesty. He wanted her to be happy, and he wanted to do what he could to ensure her happiness, to give her all the things she had ever wanted. She would be a teyrna, and it would guarantee she could remain in Ferelden, that much he could certainly offer. Whether or not he could offer anything more . . .

There's where it became difficult. When he turned to look straight at it, it became ridiculous to think a lovely girl like Rhianna could ever be happy married to a man like Loghain Mac Tir, even if she did hold some childish fantasy about the idea. And she was still far too young to know what she would want when she was grown.

But Loghain could guess. That someday, she would want things he couldn't give her. She would want to be loved by someone young and handsome, someone she found attractive. Someone friendlier and more charming, more outgoing than Loghain could ever be.

And looking at her now, looking into her eyes, at the openness and innocence in her expression, he couldn't see anything but the girl she still was, and the hints of the child she had been, the child he had known since she was five. It was painfully obvious he wasn't any sort of proper match for someone like Rhianna. And it was supremely selfish to have ever considered claiming her for himself. Rhianna deserved so much better.

Now, she smiled up at him, something almost shy in her expression, something he had rarely seen before. She seemed so sure of herself most of the time.

"I missed you, too. In case you hadn't figured that out for yourself." Then she chuckled, looking vaguely embarrassed. "Don't read too much into it though. Ferelden's just so very boring without you, and I have no one to go riding with." She glanced at the dog sitting patiently at her side, as if waiting to be noticed. "Dane missed you, too."

"The feeling is mutual." Loghain crouched down to greet Dane at eye level, scratching him behind his pointed ears. "I see you are all grown up. Like your mistress. Except you are enormous. She's only regular-sized, isn't she?"

Dane barked approvingly, while Rhianna giggled.

Loghain got back to his feet, amused by their reactions. He glanced back at the ship, grateful this journey was at an end, and he would not be required to climb aboard again. Then he turned toward Denerim, at Fort Drakon stretching up in the distance.

At the thought of being back in the city, of its familiar streets, of the halls and passageways of the palace, his shoulders drooped, and the contentment he had been feeling fled, as the weight of what he still had to face stretched out ahead of him. Of how empty all those places would be without Maric's cheerful presence. Of a life in which his best friend was irrevocably gone.

He ran a hand through his hair, knowing Rhianna would see the anguish in his face, but making no attempt to hide it. Instead, he said the words he dreaded saying, all the while knowing she would understand everything he meant by them.

"I didn't find him, Rhianna."

She took his hands again, squeezing them gently, her eyes shining in the afternoon sunlight. "I know. But not for lack of trying. You did your best. Clearly, King Maric was not meant to be found. Not yet."

That was what he had known she would say, and he felt almost guilty for just how good it was to hear the words from her lips, rather than merely imagining them. He didn't deserve the faith she had in him, but he was glad for it, nonetheless.

He smiled at her, or what he hoped passed for a smile. "How did you know when the ship would arrive?" he asked.

"How do you think I knew?" Both her tone and her crooked smile indicated she thought it was a silly question.

"Scouts."

"Of course. I asked the birds to let me know when your ship was sighted approaching the harbor, so I could be here when you sailed into Denerim. I didn't want you to have to step off that ship and be alone, not even for a single minute longer than necessary."

Blessed Andraste. It was that quality - her sweetness, her thoughtfulness - that made him want so much to keep her close.

It was also that quality that made him cringe at how selfish it was of him to want to keep her all to himself.

Well, he didn't have to think about any of that now. Today, he could just be grateful she was here with him, and grateful to be home. He reached up a hand and cupped one side of her face, running his thumb down along her cheek.

"Thank you. Seeing you waiting for me on the dock was . . . well, I appreciate it." Just how much, he wasn't certain he had words to express. Raising an eyebrow, he added, "I have presents for you, you know. Perhaps that's why you made all this effort to meet me here?"

She giggled. "I do like presents." Her smile faded a bit before she continued, "But that's not why I'm here. Or maybe it is. After all, you've just given me the very best gift I could ever imagine. Having you home again, safe, in Ferelden."

He was taken aback for a moment. Not that he was surprised, exactly, by the sentiment. Just startled she actually said it out loud. But he couldn't help feeling pleased, as well.

Maker's breath, it was good to be home.

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_Author's Note: As always, I wish to thank Psyche Sinclair for being such a wonderful beta, and also my lovely reviewers for your enthusiasm and support: KrystylSky, Milly-finalfantasy, GLCW2, Mialiah, Doom-N-GloomGal, Shadowfang, DjinniGenie, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Nascence, Psyche Sinclair, and Tyrannosaurustex._


	41. United in their obvious grief

_**26 Firstfall, 9:27 Dragon  
**__**Denerim**_

•o•

An unlit pyre stood in the center of the Denerim market square, empty except for a doublet made of dark green velvet and a pair of leather boots that belonged to Maric Theirin.

The state funeral brought people from all across Ferelden, at least those who had the means to travel during inclement winter weather. The grey, overcast sky was threatening snow, and a frigid wind whipped through the streets, howling as it passed across broken windows or gaps in the woodwork. It lent a desolate atmosphere to the day, as if even the weather were mourning Ferelden's beloved king.

The funeral procession, led by Queen Anora, Rhianna Cousland, and Delilah Howe, wound its way from the palace through the streets of the city, until it arrived, finally, in the market square. As Anora, Rhianna and Delilah lined up along one side, Loghain took his place directly in front of the empty pyre. Nearby, Cailan stood between his two uncles, looking lost and very, very young.

Loghain couldn't help but think this was all wrong. The funeral, the pyre, three young women dressed in black.

It was too soon.

He might have laughed aloud at the thought, if he'd been capable of laughter. Too soon? That was ridiculous; two years had passed since the king's disappearance.

Even so, Loghain was not ready to say goodbye.

Anora, however, had insisted a funeral was necessary. The people of Ferelden deserved to be able to make an end to their grief. Cailan deserved the opportunity to properly mourn his father. Of course, she was right. And to be honest, Loghain doubted the passage of still more time would have made much difference to the way he felt.

So, a torch in his hand, he stood silent beside the empty pyre he had built at the break of dawn, and waited.

After the crowd filled the square, the Grand Cleric came to stand opposite the three young women. She looked around at those gathered, and began to speak, her voice carrying to even the most deeply shadowed corners of the marketplace.

_"All men are the work of our Maker's hands,  
__From the lowest slaves  
__To the highest kings._

_Those who bring harm  
__Without provocation to the least of His children  
__Are hated and accursed by the Maker._

"We come here today to honor the spirit of our beloved king, Maric Theirin, who was taken from us far too soon. We ask Andraste to guide his spirit to the side of the Maker, and that the Maker give the king an eternal home at His side.

"_Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls.  
__From these emerald waters doth life begin anew._

_Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you.  
__In my arms, lies Eternity._

The Grand Cleric nodded at Anora, Rhianna and Delilah. In unison, they lifted the black veils covering their faces, and began to sing a traditional Fereldan dirge.

_This ae nighte, this ae nighte  
__Every nighte and all  
__Fire and fleet and candle-lighte  
__Maker receive thy soul_

_When thou from hence away art past  
__Every nighte and all  
__To Whinny-moor thou com'st at last  
__Maker receive they soul_

_If ever thou gave'st hosen or shoon  
__Every nighte and all  
__Sit thee down and put them on  
__Maker receive they soul_

_If hosen or shoon thou ne're gave'st nane  
__Every nighte and all  
__The whinnies shall prick thee to the bare bane  
__Maker receive thy soul_

_From Whinny-moor when thou art past  
__Every nighte and all  
__To City o' Black thou com'st at last  
__Maker receive thy soul_

_If ever thy gave of thy silver and gold  
__Every nighte and all  
__In City o' Black thou find'st foothold  
__Maker receive thy soul_

_If silver and gold thou ne'er gave'st nane  
__Every nighte and all  
__Down thou'st fall where Darkspawn remain  
__Maker receive thy soul_

_From City o' Black when thou art past  
__Every nighte and all  
__To Andraste's Pyre thou com'st at last  
__Maker receive thy soul_

_If ever thou gave'st meat or drink  
__Every nighte and all  
__The fire shall never make thee shrink  
__Maker receive thy soul_

_If meat or drink thou ne're gave'st nane  
__Every nighte and all  
__The fire shall burn thee to the bare bane  
__Maker receive thy soul_

_This ae nighte, this ae nighte  
__Every nighte and all  
__Fire and fleet and candle-lighte  
__Maker receive thy soul_

As the last notes of the dirge faded away, Loghain stepped forward, holding the torch aloft. He glanced at his daughter, and she nodded. Before he lowered his arm, however, his eyes shifted to the young woman standing at her side.

Rhianna gazed back at him, her face unsmiling, but eyes dry. She, too, nodded her head, the movement barely perceptible, but Loghain knew what it meant. She was giving him permission to say goodbye.

Lowering his arm, he set the pyre ablaze, and then tossed the torch upon it.

Within seconds, flames leapt into the air, soon reaching higher than the buildings surrounding the market square. Taking a step back away from the heat, Loghain watched the fire dance and twist. Wisps of smoke escaped upward into the sky, carrying Maric's spirit, as well as the prayers of those gathered, and delivering them to the Maker, if the Chantry's stories were to be believed. If Maric were truly dead.

_I'm sorry, Maric. I know I have failed you. _

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd had this thought, nor the first time he had been forced to acknowledge - at least to himself - the ways in which he had been so much less a friend than Maric deserved.

At least this time would be the last. Never again would the words of that hateful old woman in the Korcari Wilds - words uttered more than thirty years ago - be able to haunt him:

"_Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last._"

It couldn't possibly be worse than this. Abandoning his best friend to whatever fate he had found at the hands of the Orlesians.

Or perhaps Loghain was wrong. Perhaps he and Rhianna were both deluding themselves. Perhaps Maric really was dead. Certainly, Maric's death was the most likely scenario. It made more sense than to think he survived and simply never made it back to Ferelden. And what reason, realistically, would the empress have to keep Maric locked away in prison? Better to just kill him and be done with it.

Loghain took a ragged breath, and released it, slowly.

Well, either way, he was finished. Anora had made that abundantly clear when he arrived at the palace the previous evening, after walking Rhianna home. He was to give up this search, and stay to do his duty to Gwaren, and to the rest of Ferelden. Looking into his daughter's face, the contrast between her calm expression and the firm tone of her voice, a tone that brooked no argument, he'd had a moment of frustration. What had he been thinking, arranging the marriage that put his daughter on the throne, requiring him to take orders from her? It was only a brief moment, though, before he realized he didn't mind it so much. Not really. He knew Anora was worried about him. He was worried about himself, in truth. It had been time to return home.

Then why did he still feel as though he had betrayed Maric? And, to a lesser degree, Rhianna. She had been with him, in spirit, during the entire voyage, and he knew how much she wanted Maric to be found. He'd wanted to bring Maric home, for all their sakes. Apparently the Maker had other plans.

Loghain glanced at the girl again. Her face was turned skyward, just as his had been a moment ago, and she watched the flames lick at the sky, the slightest hint of a frown on her lips. Then, as if she sensed his eyes on her, she turned to face him, and smiled. A faint smile, tinged with sadness, but a smile. It seemed she had already forgiven him for whatever wrongs - real or imagined - he had committed.

Perhaps the time would come when he could follow her example, and forgive himself.

He returned his gaze to the pyre. Perhaps he could distract himself from these morbid thoughts by focusing on the writhing shapes in the flame.

People began to process by the pyre, giving their last respects, and slowly the crowd dispersed. Enough time had passed since Maric's disappearance that most people were not still in shock or in mourning. At the same time, Maric had been so well-loved that a hush of sadness silenced the usually bustling market square. Anora stepped away, moving to stand beside Cailan, taking one of his hands in her own. Delilah also left the side of the pyre, joining her family nearby.

Rhianna, however, did not leave. Instead, she moved to stand beside Loghain, coming close enough her shoulder gently pressed against one of his arms.

In silence, they stood together, watching as the flames consumed the pyre, hardly noticing the people walking past, offering prayers or stopping to throw a flower onto the pyre. Rhianna stood by him, speaking not a single word until the fire had spent itself, and only ashes and smoldering coals were left upon the cobbled stones of the market square.

When it was finished, they turned toward one another.

"You didn't abandon him, Teyrn Loghain," she murmured. "Please don't blame yourself for that."

He was startled, yet not genuinely surprised, at the way she seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Eleanor and Bryce crossed the courtyard, to join their daughter beside the gently smoking remains of the pyre. Eleanor smiled to see Rhianna standing beside Loghain, so close they were almost leaning against one another, only moving apart when Rhianna noticed the approach of her parents.

Eleanor put a hand on her daughter's shoulder, and Rhianna looked up and tried to smile. Her eyes were dry, but she looked anything but happy. Her companion looked even less so; Loghain's mouth turned down at the corners, and his eyelids drooped, just slightly, but enough to give him an air of exhaustion, and his posture was almost too straight, as though he were forcing himself not to slouch.

This must have been awful for him, from start to finish. Loghain and Maric had been like brothers.

On impulse, Eleanor stepped forward, and greeted Loghain with an embrace. After a moment of hesitation, he returned the gesture, wrapping his arms around her.

"Maric was beloved, and will be greatly missed," Eleanor said, as she stepped back. "Of course, at the same time, there are a great many of us who are glad to have you back home in Ferelden."

"Thank you," Loghain replied, gracing her with a crooked smile that was slight, but appeared genuine. "On both counts."

It was true there were many people glad to have Loghain back. Some were worried about the amount of money he spent during his search, and wanted the drain on the treasury to cease. Still others hoped Loghain would be a calming influence on Cailan, who had not yet settled into his role as king as everyone hoped he would. Not that this was a problem; Anora had proven both shrewd and diplomatic, as pragmatic as Cailan was fanciful, and easily capable of both ruling the country and tempering the worst of Cailan's excesses.

And there were a handful, Eleanor among them, who were pleased to have Loghain back in Ferelden for his own sake. Of these, Rhianna was perhaps the happiest of all. She had been unable to fully contain her excitement from the day she received Loghain's letter suggesting the Couslands come to the city during Firstfall. For the first time in two years, she seemed pleased about journeying to Denerim. More than that, Eleanor sensed a spark of life in the girl that had dimmed while Loghain was away.

Now, seeing Loghain and Rhianna together, how _comfortable_ they looked side by side, gave Eleanor a warm feeling. No doubt dissuading Bryce from hurrying into a betrothal arrangement with someone else had been the right thing to do. In the weeks following the Landsmeet, there had been a flurry of inquiries, and a messenger had arrived from Orlais, carrying yet another proposal for Rhianna to marry Empress Celene's cousin, a man called Pres'deaux. There were a great many prospects, but none so appealing they couldn't be put off with the excuse of Rhianna's youth. So Eleanor had insisted Bryce wait, and not rush into anything.

Certainly, Rhianna showed no interest in any of the names put forward: Vaughan Kendalls, Oswyn Davies, Teagan Guerrin, Timothy Wulff. And neither Bryce nor Eleanor had any intention of sending Rhianna off to Orlais. Fortunately, Rhianna was still young enough there was no real urgency.

So, Eleanor had urged Bryce to wait.

Just once, not long after Loghain left on his voyage, Eleanor had broached the subject of Loghain and Rhianna being wed. Eleanor had been somewhat shocked when Bryce was anything but enthusiastic. He recited a litany of times Rhianna had been harmed when she was with Loghain: the werewolves at the festival, when she had fallen ill with the plague, the bees at Anora's wedding, and of course the ambush by Orlesian assassins, which had still been fresh in everyone's memory at the time.

Bryce was being irrational, of course. The only one of those events for which Loghain could be held even marginally responsible was the assassination attempt, and even that was certainly not his fault. If anything, every one of those times, Loghain had done everything in his power to keep Rhianna safe, and for that, Eleanor would always be grateful. Theirs was a dangerous world, and nothing short of locking Rhianna away in the castle would keep her truly safe (and even that was no guarantee, judging by the note left on her bedroom door the night before the Festival of Wolves). Eleanor much preferred the peace of mind she would receive by knowing her daughter was in the company of someone who cared for her. Someone who would go to any length to protect her. And Eleanor believed that someone was Loghain Mac Tir.

But Bryce had raged about Loghain putting Rhianna in harm's way, and encouraging her to lie about the assassins (apparently the girl had said no one was badly injured, even though Loghain had suffered a rather severe blow to the chest). Right after that happened, Bryce had even talked about forbidding Rhianna from seeing Loghain at all, something that would have broken the girl's heart.

Eleanor chose not to press the subject, however, and over the two years that followed, Bryce's attitude had mellowed, once the initial shock of the Orlesian ambush had dissipated. When Rhianna admitted she and Loghain were corresponding during the course of his voyage, Eleanor feared Bryce would see this as more evidence of Loghain's "bad influence," but the fact they had written to one another had been overshadowed by the rather monumental revelation of Rhianna's ability to converse with animals. And last week, when they arrived in Denerim and Rhianna had been so clearly excited about being able to see Loghain upon his return, there had been no talk of forbidding them seeing one another.

Hopefully, if Loghain were to ask for Rhianna's hand, Bryce could be convinced to see the benefit in such an arrangement. In the meantime, Eleanor intended to make certain Rhianna did not end up promised to someone else prematurely.

"Rhianna," Bryce said, "why don't you come along with us? We're going to walk to the Palace now, for the feast in King Maric's honor."

"If it's all right, may I walk with Teyrn Loghain?"

Rhianna hadn't even glanced at Loghain to see if this would meet with his approval; clearly, she felt certain it would. Eleanor had no idea how often the two of them had written to one another while Loghain was away, nor anything about the content of those letters, but seeing the two of them now, standing together, united in their obvious grief, it seemed the time Loghain spent away had brought them closer together, rather than created any distance.

Before Bryce could respond to Rhianna's question, Eleanor spoke up.

"Of course, darling. You go with Loghain. We'll see you at the palace."

•o•o•o•o•o•

As Rhianna's parents walked away, Loghain looked down to see a sly smile on the girl's face.

"I hope you don't mind escorting me to the palace. If it's any trouble, I can hurry and catch up with my parents."

He lifted a brow. "Well, I expect it will be quite a chore. Considering all the 'skills of terror' you were honing in my absence. I hope I won't be required to rescue innocent bystanders as we make our way through the city."

"Don't be silly," Rhianna chided. "You don't have to worry about that here in town. I'm the Terror of the High Seas, remember? I don't generally create a lot of havoc on land."

Loghain chuckled at this. Maker's breath, he had missed her.

"Well," he began, as he gestured they should begin walking, "that's not what I heard. With respect to your childhood, anyway. Perhaps now you are a young lady, you've decided to narrow your focus of terror?"

"Of course I have. It's always best to stick with one thing and become an expert, right? Besides, as far as you know, I have lots of new tricks up my sleeve. You were gone for quite a while. It's possible I didn't write about _everything_ I got up to while you were away."

"Is that so?" Again, he chuckled, but her words evoked a feeling of guilt, and the laughter on his lips slipped away.

He had not written about everything, either. There was one thing in particular he had failed to report. He glanced at her, took in the way her eyes lit up when she looked at him, the trust he saw there.

He needed to tell her the truth, to stop keeping this particular secret from her. And he needed to tell her right now.

"Rhianna." Something in his tone must have caught her attention, because she stopped walking and looked up at him, a slight frown marring the lines of her face. "There's something I need to tell you."

"All right." Her voice sounded guarded. "What is it?"

"Let's find somewhere we can talk . . . in private." He didn't want to risk being overhead, since he wasn't sure how she would react to what he had to say. Tears, most likely, but she might be angry with him as well, and he wouldn't blame her. If she needed to rant at him, even scream and shout, she deserved to be able to do so without worrying someone might hear. "Shall we stop by Gwaren House on the way to the palace?"

"Of course, if that's what you want."

They walked in silence for the few minutes it took to get to the estate, and once they were inside, Loghain led the way into his study. A fire in the hearth pushed back the winter chill, which Loghain was noticing more than usual this year, probably from having spent so much time in warmer northern climes.

Gesturing for Rhianna to have a seat on the sofa, Loghain retrieved two glasses and a decanter of port before sitting beside her. He poured two drinks, offering one to her.

She took a sip of the port. "All right. You've gone to the trouble to pour me a drink, so I assume this must be something important. What is it? What do you need to tell me?"

He looked into her eyes and took a deep breath, "It's about Maric. Something I . . . failed to tell you in my letters."

"Something about King Maric? Why do I get the feeling it's not anything good?

"You're right. It isn't anything good."

He stopped, not sure how to begin, what words to say or how to say them.

"Just tell me," she urged, as if she knew the reason for his hesitation. "Whatever it is, just say it, plainly. There's no need to pretty things up for my benefit."

He nodded slowly. "All right. On the island. Where I found Maric's amulet? I found something else as well."

Again, he paused, not wanting to say these words aloud, as though speaking them would make them real and permanent in a way they weren't before. But he had to tell her, there was no way to avoid it, and he didn't want to avoid it, not really. This was too much to keep to himself, locked up inside. He needed someone else to know.

Rhianna didn't encourage him. She merely allowed the silence to stretch out, and waited for him to continue.

Finally, he did. "I found . . . remains. On the island. The remains of two people."

Rhianna's eyes grew wide. "What are you saying? Remains? Are you telling me . . . was . . . was one of them King Maric?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know. By the time we arrived, they had been dead so long they were just bleached bones in tattered clothing. And nothing about the clothes made me think either of them was Maric. I decided they must have been common sailors." He sighed. "But they had both been murdered, their throats slit, knife marks on the neck bones."

"If they were just common sailors, murdered or not, why didn't you tell me?" Her voice shook and her eyes looked haunted. "And why are you telling me now? Do you . . . have you decided you were wrong? And one of them really was the king? Do you think he died on that island?"

"I . . . I don't know. I didn't believe it at the time, and I still don't want to believe it." He met her gaze. "All I knew then was I had to keep searching. I had to assume the bodies we found were . . . other people. Anyone but Maric. I have no idea who, or why they were on the island, if they had anything to do with the_ Demelza_ at all, but I couldn't bear the thought of one of them being Maric.

"And I didn't know how to tell you, how to say it without making it seem . . . real."

"But now?" Rhianna's lower lip trembled.

"Now. I'm just not sure what to think. Perhaps it was always just wishful thinking on my part. An inability to accept the truth. That's what Anora thinks. I'm obsessed with Orlais and so desperate for Maric to return that I can't face reality. And maybe she's right."

Rhianna set down her glass and reached over to take one of Loghain's hands in her own. "It's not about being right or wrong. Whether Maric is still alive somewhere, or whether he really did die on that island, what matters is you gave everything you had to give. You searched until there was nowhere left to search." Her eyes studied his face. "Is there anything you could have done that you didn't do?"

Maker's blood. She expected him to answer. To give her an honest answer. Which meant he needed to look inside himself and find one.

"I don't know what else I could have done," he admitted. "I suppose there wasn't anything. Not by sea, at any rate. And Anora made it clear there was to be no talk of searching in Orlais, or anywhere else, not without some proof that Maric could still be alive."

"And now, you're not even sure about that. That Maric is still alive. You do think one of the bodies was his." It wasn't a question.

Loghain stared into the fire, watching the flames dance like they had over Maric's empty pyre, and something twisted inside of him. Maric was dead. The man who had been his best friend nearly his entire life was almost certainly dead.

"Yes. I do."

As he turned toward Rhianna, her expression shattered. She pressed her lips together, then sobbed once. A tear slipped down her face, and her mouth gasped open as more tears began to fall.

Rhianna's tears, the sight of them glistening on her cheeks in the firelight, the harsh sound of her breath as she cried, the way her hands clenched around his fingers, seeing her in so much pain was almost more than he could bear. He wanted to turn away, he wanted to get up and leave the room, do something with his body, hit things, bash at a quintain with his sword, but he couldn't just leave her stranded with her grief.

And as much as he wanted to escape this grief, he didn't want to leave _her_.

And then something inside of him broke, the control he had clung to fiercely, afraid without it he would collapse. He had needed it on the voyage, and had needed it even more desperately for the few days he had been back in Ferelden. But now, alone with the girl who had somehow come to mean as much to him as anyone ever had, watching her tears did something to him. He wanted to comfort her, he wanted to pull her close and hold her while she cried, but he couldn't. Because everything he'd held back for so long – for more than two years – came rushing to the surface, demanding to be felt.

He put his face in his hands, and with a heave of his shoulders, his own tears finally came.

He felt Rhianna move closer, and wrap her arms around his shoulders. Resting her cheek against the back of his head, she held him. While they both cried for their friend, for the man they loved too much to let themselves mourn, she held him. Even though he could feel her sobbing from her own grief, she held him.

He almost pulled away, it felt so strange, so unfamiliar, to be close to someone like this, to allow another person to see his vulnerability. Even Maric had seen him cry only once that Loghain could remember, after Deirdre had died.

He didn't pull away though, because underneath the grief and the strangeness, there was something _good_ about having Rhianna at his side, her warmth flooding over him. She shifted her body, and he felt the heat of her breath on his scalp as she pressed her lips to his hair, even as her own body still heaved gently with sobs. He felt safe and loved, for the first time in a very, very long time. Desperate for comfort, so very grateful for it, Loghain stopped trying to resist, and accepted what Rhianna gave so freely.

And in the comfort and warmth of her embrace, Loghain allowed his tears to come, allowed grief to wash over him.

Maric was gone. Loghain's best friend. The man who had been part of Loghain's life - in many ways the most important part of his life - for more than thirty years, was gone. Truly gone, and wasn't coming back. He was mostly likely dead, at the hands of the Orlesians, or someone else. And even if he was still alive, if by some miracle that wasn't his body on the island, it didn't matter, because either way, Maric was gone. It had been two years. If he hadn't made his way back to Ferelden in all that time, then clearly something was stopping him.

When Loghain finally lifted his head from his hands, he could feel the emptiness inside, the hollow left behind by Maric's absence. A constriction in his chest, almost physically painful. The absence of Maric _hurt_, and Loghain felt a stab of fear at the thought of living through a future with this intensity of pain.

But these feelings would ebb, in time. He had lived through grief before, and knew its tempo, its dance, the way it grew and receded, like the tide kissing the shore, every once in a while a large wave crashing in unexpectedly. But eventually, it would lessen. Someday he would get through a day without grief stopping him in his tracks. Someday, things would be all right again. And until that day, he would take whatever comfort was offered.

Sitting up, he turned and gathered Rhianna into his arms, wanting to comfort her, needing to know that she, too, was going to be all right. She came into his arms willingly, fitting herself against him so her head rested on his shoulder. He laid his cheek against her hair.

Loghain had no sense of how much time had passed when Rhianna sat up and gently pulled herself out of his embrace. She retrieved her glass from the table, and took a long draught of the port, sighing deeply before returning the glass to the table. She ran a hand across her face, rubbing at her eyes, and then she looked over at Loghain. She reached up and brushed her fingers lightly across his cheek, wiping away a tear.

"It's been two years," she scoffed. "You'd think we would have gotten used to the idea of him being gone by now."

"Yes, well that's difficult to do when we were unwilling to admit he was really gone."

She leaned up against him again. "He is, isn't he? Really gone."

"Yes. I think he is." After a moment's hesitation, he murmured, "I'm sorry, Rhianna."

"Sorry? For what?"

"For not telling you. About the bodies on the island. I should have told you; you deserved to know everything. You were the one who kept me going when I thought I would go mad from seeing nothing but water for days on end. From the constant disappointment of finding nothing of Maric everywhere we went, until we found the island. And then," he swallowed before continuing, "then, I just didn't know how to say it. Not in a letter. News like that is better delivered in person. And like I said, having you know would have made it . . . real for me. In a way I wasn't willing to face. Not until just now."

"You don't owe me an apology." She took his hand, threading her fingers between his own. "How can I be angry with you for not wanting to tell me something you knew would break my heart? And your own."

He put an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

Maker's breath. He didn't deserve her forgiveness, and yet she had given it to him anyway.

Again, they sat together for several minutes before she broke the silence. "The amulet. Do you still have it?"

"Of course." He stood, and retrieved the amulet from the drawer in his desk. Crossing back to the sofa, he handed it to her. Maric's amulet. There was no doubt it was the one they had found beneath the waterfall, with its frolicking trickster god.

"Would you like to have it?" Loghain asked. "You are the one who first found it, after all."

"No, I think you should keep it. Perhaps every now and again we can pull it out and look at it and talk about our happy memories of the king. But I certainly wouldn't want to look at it all the time." She chuckled, softly. "It really is hideously ugly." Then her smiled faded. "You don't think the amulet could be cursed somehow, do you? I mean, he'd only had it a few months when he disappeared at sea. What if . . . what if Imhar was angry about something? Or maybe killing people is just what trickster gods like to do? Maybe we shouldn't have said it was ugly. What if we hurt his feelings?"

"To be honest, I wondered the same thing myself after I found it on the island. But if it was cursed, I should think we would get a bad feeling from it. And I don't. Do you? Get a bad feeling from it?"

She held it in both hands, studying it carefully, turning it over and examining both the front and the back. Then she closed her eyes for a moment and sat in silence. Loghain had done much the same in his berth on the ship, not long after he'd found it.

She opened her eyes. "No," she admitted. "I don't think it feels bad at all."

"Who knows? Perhaps old Imhar even watched over Maric, at least for a time."

"Perhaps he did." Rhianna sighed deeply, the breath catching in her chest. She handed the amulet back to Loghain.

"You know," he said, "I just remembered I have things to give you. Your very belated birthday gift, for one."

"Things?" She laughed once, although it was a tired sort of sound. "You mean there is more than one?" This was the first time he could remember Rhianna seeming less than enthusiastic about receiving presents. But hopefully the items he had chosen would serve to cheer her, at least a little. He hated seeing the grief that still lurked in her eyes.

"Of course more than one. What else do you think I had to do in all those port cities where we stopped? I was always looking for things I thought you might appreciate. Would you like to see what I brought back for you?"

"All right." This time, her smile was warmer, more genuine.

After retrieving a pair of parcels from his desk, he returned to her side and handed her the first one: a long cylindrical package wrapped in brown paper.

She took it with a shy smile, and untied the string holding the wrapping in place. Inside was a leather tube containing a rolled up parchment. She pulled it out and unrolled it part way, gasping softly at an exquisitely drawn map of the entire continent of Thedas.

Loghain had chosen it for the artwork. The colors were rich and deep: sapphire blue water, and rich ochre mountains with forests of dark evergreen. The title, and some of the larger cities, were captioned in gold leaf, and the cartographer had drawn in small illustrations, perfectly detailed: dolphins and whales spouting at sea, a dragon in the Silent Plains, a wagon being pulled by some sort of large deer through the Dales.

"Oh, Teyrn Loghain," she breathed. "It's absolutely gorgeous. I think it might be the prettiest thing I've ever seen in my life." After handing it carefully to Loghain, she moved the port glasses off of the table, checking to make sure they hadn't left any dampness behind. Then she spread the map across the table. Loghain moved close to study it at her side.

"One day, you'll have to show me exactly where you went on your voyage," she said, as her fingers tentatively explored the inked parchment. "I know the general route." She began to trace it with her finger. "From Denerim down the Waking Sea to Jader, then back to Kirkwall . . . and then out into the Amaranthine Ocean, and north, through the Rialto Bay . . . and around Rivain, south of Seheron to Minrathous . . . and then north, and east to the archipelago."

Maker. Her memory of his travels was sharp; apparently his letters had been sufficiently detailed about where he had gone in search of the missing king. Her finger passed across the word "Antiva."

"Don't forget you've promised to take me here someday," she grinned. "For the food." Then she pointed to a winged beast drawn in near the edge of the Anderfels. "And, look," she exclaimed, "now we know where to begin our search for griffons.

"It really is so beautiful." She placed her finger at Highever, and then allowed it to move downward, in what appeared to be an absentminded way. She traced a route through the Bannorn to Lothering, and then over to the Breciilan Passage. Her finger wound its way further down, through the huge forest, finally stopping at Gwaren.

Did she realize she had just traced the route from her home to his?

Loghain felt something catch in his chest, a feeling of longing. Of just how much he cared for the girl at his side. It made him vaguely uncomfortable, to be hit with the realization of how much he had come to rely on her, how important she was. How much he wanted her to be part of his future, and how much the thought of living without her scared him. Especially now that Maric was gone.

She glanced at him, smiling at first, until she saw his expression.

"Teyrn Loghain? Is everything all right?" she asked, her voice polite and calm, and slightly concerned.

"Everything is fine," he assured her, forcing himself to smile. "I'm glad you like the map."

"I love it." Her smile looked genuine, although grief still lurked behind her eyes. "I don't even have words for how much. It really is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Where did you find it?"

"In Minrathous. The moment I saw it, I knew it should belong to you."

"Thank you." She leaned up and placed a kiss on his cheek before carefully re-rolling the map and placing it back in its leather tube.

"There's still one more package," Loghain reminded.

She giggled. "Why on earth would there be another package? You only missed one of my birthdays."

"Well, you can consider it a belated Satinalia gift. Or, perhaps a very small token of my appreciation and gratitude for all the letters and drawings you sent."

"Oh." She smiled shyly, blushing just a little bit. "All right."

The second parcel contained a gown, made of peacock blue silk with a panel of deep green in the front. After pulling it from the wrapping, Rhianna stood, holding the dress in front of her to see its full length, and then turning it and holding it against her body as if gauging how well it would fit. It was a different style from anything worn in Ferelden, with long panels that fell all the way to the floor, rather than the laced up bodices that were so often worn here. The sleeves, too, were long and flowing, and when he'd seen the style on women in Rivain, he'd thought it would suit Rhianna's figure nicely. Now, the gown looked to be just an inch or two long - something that could easily be fixed by a seamstress. Or not, if Rhianna grew just a bit more over the next few years, which she probably would.

Rhianna hugged the dress tightly to herself for a moment, rubbing one sleeve against her cheek.

"Oh, Teyrn Loghain, it's beautiful! The colors are gorgeous and the silk feels wonderful against my skin. Wherever did you find something so beautiful? I've never seen anything like it before."

"I bought it in Rivain, in a tiny little town north of Seere. You would have loved the place. Everywhere the air smelled of spices and incense, and there were birds singing and tiny striped squirrels hiding among the rocks and scurrying across the brick walls. When I saw the gown, I immediately thought of you. I thought the green would match your eyes. I hope it's not the wrong size," he added, uncertainly. "I'll be happy to have it altered if necessary."

"Oh, no, I don't think you need to do that. It looks just the tiniest bit big, which is perfect! I'd rather it fit me when I'm grown, so I can wear it for years and years."

She sat beside him again, giving him another kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, Teyrn Loghain. You really didn't have to bring anything back for me, you know. Just having you home is the best gift you could ever have given me. I do love the presents, though. You're good at choosing things I really like." She looked down at her hands. "Sometimes I think you know me better than anyone else has ever known me. It's like you can see into my head and know what I'm thinking." She paused. "I like that." She glanced up at him with a shy smile.

Yes. He felt the same about her.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you like them." He reached out to touch her face, briefly, and then he clapped his hands to his knees and pushed himself up onto his feet. "We should probably head over the palace. Your parents will be wondering where you are."

"All right. How do I look?" For a moment he was confused. She was beautiful; how could she not know that? Then she added, "You can't tell I've been crying, can you?" Ah. That made sense.

"No," he assured her. "You look lovely." He raised an eyebrow at her. "What about me? Are my eyes red?"

"No, not really. Only a little, and not so anyone would notice. You look handsome. As always." She looked away, not meeting his gaze as she stood and folded her dress carefully. "May I leave these things here, and pick them up later?"

"Of course." He was glad she had looked away, as he was unable to hide the smile that crossed his face at her previous comment. Not that he believed she really thought he was handsome, but all the same, it was nice to hear her say it.

Outside, he offered her his arm, and together, they made their way to the palace.

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* The Fereldan Dirge is adapted from a traditional song: "The Lyke-Wake Dirge." The original is written in a Yorkshire dialect; here are translations of some words that might be unfamiliar:

_This ae night_ - this one night  
_Fire and fleet_ - hearth and home  
_Whinnies_ - A thorny shrub  
_Hosen and shoon_ – stockings and shoes  
_nane -_ none  
_bane – _bone

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_A big thank you to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair, and also to my fabulous reviewers: Tyrannosaurustex, Hugs4every1, KrystylSky, GLCW2, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Shadowfang, Milly-Finalfantasy, and DjinniGenie._

___Author's Note: If you would like to hear a recording of Rhianna, Anora and Delilah (aka me, me and me) singing the song that is featured in this chapter, please follow the link on my profile to the "Extras" page; you will find the link on the Dragon Age Songs - Master List page (Chapter 3)._


	42. The prettiest girl in Ferelden

**TRIGGER WARNING:** Please scroll to the bottom if you would like specific information about potentially triggering content in this chapter.

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_**26 Firstfall, 9:27 Dragon  
Denerim**_

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The great hall of the palace was brightly lit, with torches lining the walls, and fires blazing in all four corners of the room. The room was packed with people, nearly as many as had been present for the royal wedding, and the din of loud voices echoed in the hall. Everywhere she looked, Rhianna saw faces smiling and laughing, hardly appropriate for what was supposed to be a wake for King Maric. It was jarring, especially after the quiet of the cool evening outside. She wished she and Loghain could just leave again. Return to Gwaren House, or walk out together in the garden, rather than face this boisterous crowd of "mourners" who didn't appear to be doing anything resembling mourning at all. It was true most everyone else had given up on King Maric being alive a very long time ago; perhaps they'd already done their grieving. Even so, couldn't they at least pretend to be sad?

Rhianna glanced at Loghain, and look he gave her - a raised eyebrow and something that was barely half a smile - told her he was no happier to be here than she was. Still, the wake was happening in Maric's honor, and that enough was reason to stay. Giving him the brightest smile she could muster, Rhianna bid him farewell, as they parted so Loghain could find Anora while Rhianna went in search of her parents.

She spotted them at the far end of the hall, and headed in their direction.

Before she'd made it halfway across the room, someone stepped in front of her, blocking her way. She stopped, startled to see Vaughan Kendalls, Arl Urien's son. He looked down at her, with a smile that crept slowly across his face.

"Rhianna Cousland." Rhianna had known Vaughan for years, but not particularly well. He was about Fergus' age, and was not the sort of person to pay much attention to the younger children. Fergus didn't seem to like him much, although he'd never told her precisely why. "It's good to see you."

"Hello, Vaughan."

"Did you just arrive? I'd been looking for you, and couldn't find you until just now."

Oh, Maker. She wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone right now, and certainly not someone she barely knew. And why would Vaughan have been looking for her? She hoped this wouldn't be a repeat of what happened the previous year, when he followed her around after the announcement about the Calenhad's Cross she'd been awarded.

"Yes. I've only just gotten here." She didn't elaborate; it hardly seemed any of his business where she had been. "Why were you looking for me?"

"I wanted to tell you I thought your singing was lovely this afternoon. I had no idea you have such a beautiful voice."

"Oh. Thank you." Warmth flared up in her cheeks. She wasn't used to anyone but Loghain complimenting her on her singing, mostly because she almost never sang in front of anyone but him. "The dirge is a beautiful song, even if it's only sung on sad occasions."

"Perhaps someday I can convince you to sing something happier for me. I should like that very much."

"Um . . . well, I don't sing very often. Not for other people, anyway."

He stepped closer. He was tall, nearly as tall as Loghain, and the way he loomed over her made her uncomfortable. "Oh, come now. Surely, I can convince you. If I ask very, very nicely?"

She chuckled nervously, resisting the urge to step backward, away from him.

"Well, maybe. Some other time."

"I'll take that as a yes. I don't expect you've had any refreshments yet, have you, since you only just arrived. Shall I escort you?"

"Thank you, but no. I'm not hungry just now, and I need to speak with my parents. Later, perhaps?"

"As you wish. I look forward to it." He inclined his head briefly, and finally stepped to one side. Feeling the urge to put distance between herself and Vaughan, Rhianna wasted no time in continuing across the room.

"Ah, there you are, darling," Eleanor said at Rhianna's approach. The Couslands were speaking with arls Howe and Bryland, as well as Habren and the ever-present Lady Harriet. "I was starting to be concerned. Why were you and Loghain delayed?"

"We stopped by Gwaren House on the way here. Loghain had something to . . . some things to give me," she amended. She certainly didn't want to explain the conversation they'd had about the bones on the island.

"The teyrn had things to give you? What sort of things?" Lady Harriet's voice dripped with interest, and Arl Howe's eyes had narrowed nearly to slits; the appraising look he gave her made Rhianna feel almost dirty, somehow.

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "Just some things he brought back for me on his voyage. A map of Thedas, and a gown from Rivain." She looked at her parents. "You'll get to see them later. I didn't want to carry them here with me tonight, so I left them at the Gwaren estate, and I'll go back for them another day."

"Gifts!" Lady Harriet exclaimed. "Really? Loghain Mac Tir has never struck me as the sort of man to bring back gifts for his acquaintances."

"Indeed," Arl Howe added.

"He and I . . . um . . ." Rhianna began, then trailed off. Oh, damn. She probably shouldn't have said anything about Loghain's gifts. This was Denerim, and the gossips were sure to have a field day with news like this, Lady Harriet herself leading the charge. And Rhianna hadn't remembered to ask Loghain if he wanted people to know they had been corresponding. Well, probably, that didn't matter. She couldn't think of any reason it was supposed to be a secret, as long as she didn't say how the letters got there and back.

"Teyrn Loghain and I wrote to one another," she explained, "a few times, while he was away. And I sent him some drawings I'd done - one of Anora, and one of King Maric. This was just his way of saying thanks."

"Gifts," Howe scoffed. "Better he'd used the money to replace the funds he took from the royal coffers. I understand the treasury is quite drained after two years futilely searching for Maric."

"But it wasn't futile." Rhianna was annoyed with his tone. "Teyrn Loghain found the ship, and evidence King Maric landed, at least for a short time, on an island north of Seheron."

"What's this?" Leonas Bryland asked. "I knew the ship had been found near Seheron, but this is the first I've heard of any evidence of Maric being ashore."

Maker's balls. Just how much of the story had Loghain told anyone other than her? He had written to Anora, but even if he had told his daughter what happened, perhaps the queen hadn't shared his findings with everyone else. Damn. Hopefully, she wasn't breaking Loghain's confidence by telling what he had found.

"Yes," Rhianna began. "Teyrn Loghain found an amulet belonging to the king. It was on an island right next to where the _Demelza_ sank."

"But the king himself wasn't still there?" Bryland asked.

Rhianna hesitated again, before shaking her head. "No," she replied. She had no intention of sharing what Loghain had told her about the skeletons. That she felt certain was meant to be a secret.

"Well, unless this interminably long - and expensive - search had turned up the king - alive or dead - I still say it was futile," Howe argued, glaring at Rhianna as if challenging her to contradict him again. Her breath caught in her chest at the anger in his eyes. Certainly, she'd known for years he disliked her, although she wasn't sure why. She'd always been polite to him, and the incident with Thomas had happened years ago, when she was small. It seemed ridiculous he would still be holding that against her. Regardless of the reason, his distain was tiring, especially since she saw him more often than just about any of the other nobles. He and her father were good friends, and Amaranthine was so close to Highever.

At any rate, there was no point in angering him further, so she chose not to respond to his comment. She'd already defended Loghain as well as she was able, and it seemed clear nothing she could say would change Arl Howe's mind about being angry, so she shrugged her shoulders and looked away.

When, thankfully, the conversation drifted to another topic, she had no desire to participate. Nearby, a burst of laughter broke out. It was overwhelming, the noise and the people and the heat in the hall. Not bothering to excuse herself, she slipped away from the group.

She headed first to the refreshment table, picking up a goblet with some sort of beverage, and taking a sip. As soon as the cider hit her tongue, she knew it was not what she wanted. Her stomach felt . . . odd. The idea of anything more to drink, or - Maker forbid - food, sounded awful. She set down the goblet and glanced around the room, looking for someone she might want to talk to.

Loghain was, of course, her first choice, but he was surrounded by people: the king and queen, Urien Kendalls, Eamon Guerrin, and several banns. No doubt he was being asked a million and one questions about his voyage, and hating every minute of it. She'd hated having to answer the few questions she'd been asked, and she'd brought that on herself by stupidly mentioning the presents. Hopefully it wouldn't come back to haunt her: some new rumor about a torrid love affair with the Teyrn of Gwaren, just because he'd bought home a gift for her.

Although if such a rumor did start, at least people might forget she was supposed to be madly in love with King Cailan. And if she were going to be accused of having an affair with someone, it might as well be with the man she loved. The man she genuinely wanted to be with that way.

Well, she didn't really want to be with him _that_ way. Not yet. The idea of having sex was still vaguely terrifying, and she wasn't entirely sure all it involved (the part of Habren's poem about being on her knees still made no sense whatsoever). So no. She wasn't ready for that.

Earlier, though, when they'd sat together at Gwaren House, there had been a moment when she had very much wanted to kiss him. Or have him kiss her; she wasn't sure which. Even though her grief about Maric caused an ache in her heart she feared would never heal, being so close to Loghain had felt . . . perfect. And when he'd pulled her into his arms, and she curled up against him, she could feel his breath against her hair, and it occurred to her that if she turned to look at him, she would have been close enough to press her lips to his, and her heart had beat faster at the thought of it.

Of course, she had done no such thing, but it was interesting to consider what he might have done if she had. Probably, almost certainly, he would have laughed at her, or pushed her away. Maybe even been angry. But what if he hadn't pushed her away? What if he had taken her face gently between his hands, as she'd seen Fergus do with Oriana, and returned the kiss? She imagined (not for the first time) how his lips might feel against hers. How it would feel if he pulled her even closer, his strong arms around her. If he ran his hands across her back. If he whispered soft words in her ear. Especially the three words she most wanted to hear.

But none of that was likely to happen. Not yet. She had never once gotten the feeling he felt _that_ way about her. Of course he didn't; before he left on his voyage, she had still been a child. But she was older now, very nearly grown. Maybe someday soon he would notice. She hoped he would notice, because she certainly wasn't going to tell him how she felt. It was one thing to write things in letters, but she couldn't imagine talking with him face to face about something like this. Admitting that she loved him, that she wanted more than anything to marry him. No, he would just have to notice on his own that she was growing up. He had written about being upset if she'd gotten married while he was away, and joked about poisoning Bann Teagan if he told her she was pretty again. Those things seemed promising. With any luck, someday soon he would decide he wanted to kiss her. She was ready for that.

Well, she wasn't sure if she were ready or not, but she liked the idea of it. In theory.

She glanced around the room, trying to decide what to do. Clearly, her hope of talking with Loghain, maybe walking with him in the garden, away from all the noise and the people, wasn't going to happen. The mob surrounding him wasn't likely to dissipate anytime soon; he was the evening's entertainment, when it came right down to it.

She didn't have the energy to rejoin her parents' conversation, not with Arl Howe and Habren both giving her horrible looks all the time. Teagan Guerrin was the only other person in the room she might have wanted to talk to, and he was in a corner talking to Bann Alfstanna and a woman Rhianna didn't know. To be honest, the thought of talking to anyone, really, other than Loghain, made her feel exhausted. It was more work than pleasure, all of this "socializing" with the other nobles. Less like visiting with people who were supposed to be one's friends, and more like going into battle.

And right now she was too tired to talk with any of the people in the room, nor did she have the patience for listening to the inane drivel about how Loghain's voyage had been a waste of time and money.

So, she'd just go out into the garden anyway, with or without Teyrn Loghain. It would be cooler and quiet out there, much nicer than the great hall, with the fires blazing and all these people trying to talk at once. She would let herself grieve for King Maric in peace and quiet, away from everyone else.

As soon as she stepped out into the cool evening air, she felt better. Calmer. Less worried someone was going to trap her into saying something she shouldn't say, or ask some question she wouldn't know how to answer. It was truly exhausting to be in Denerim sometimes.

Her feet took her to the far corner of the garden, all the way to the duck pond, which wasn't living up to its name at the moment. No ducks were on the water, although she could see them huddled together on the far bank. She hadn't brought anything to feed them, though, so it didn't seem fair to call them over.

She sat on the bench, shivering. Too bad she hadn't remembered to bring a cloak. Still, it wasn't cold enough to drive her back inside, so to amuse herself she reached out with her mind, wanting to see who else might be around. An owl perhaps, or a fox. Foxes often enjoyed having their necks scratched, even when Rhianna had no treats to offer.

Before she'd managed to find any animal companions, she heard footsteps on the gravel path. Perhaps Loghain had seen her leave, and managed to escape the horde of people surrounding him, and come out to visit with her. Oh, she hoped so. That would be wonderful!

An expectant smile on her face, she watched as someone came around the hedge. But it wasn't Loghain; it was Vaughan Kendalls.

"Ah! There you are." Vaughan sounded anything but surprised to have found her here. "I thought we had arranged to meet near the refreshments, but instead I find you out here all by yourself? In the dark?"

An arrangement? She didn't remember making any such promise. "I just came out to get some fresh air. There were too many people in the hall."

"Is that so? You came rather a long way away from the palace for 'fresh air.' I thought perhaps you were meeting someone." He gave her a wink and a knowing smile, then sat beside her on the bench, slightly closer than made her feel comfortable. She scooted a couple inches away before answering.

"Who would I be meeting?" she asked.

"In truth? I had hoped you intended to meet me."

"What? No!" Oh, that probably sounded rude. "I mean, it's nice to see you, of course, but I didn't expect anyone else to be out here."

"Is that so?" He moved closer on the bench. "At any rate, I expect we are the only two people out in the garden just now."

"Probably, yes," she agreed. "Everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves inside."

"You weren't?"

"No, not really. It was too warm, and well, I just wanted to get away from all the noise."

"I don't blame you for that. Everyone trying to pretend they're sad about the king, even though he died years ago. And Teyrn Loghain playing the hero, back from his failed expedition."

"Playing the hero? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Didn't you see him in there? Eating up all the attention, now he's returned to Ferelden. As if he actually accomplished something with that voyage of his."

If Vaughan genuinely thought Loghain enjoyed being battered by questions from every noble in Denerim, he obviously didn't know Loghain very well at all.

"Well," she said carefully, remembering her earlier exchange with Arl Howe, "Teyrn Loghain does have two years' worth of searching to talk about. People are bound to have questions."

Vaughan leaned back against the bench, stretching both of his arms out along the backrest. "Yes, I suppose that's true. And I suppose it's not surprising you would defend him. The two of you do . . . know one another, don't you?" He raised a brow, and gave her an unpleasant half-smile which reminded her of the way Arl Howe had looked when she'd mentioned Loghain's gifts. Her stomach felt strange, hollow, and she had the urge to excuse herself and return to the palace, but before she could speak, he laughed, "But why on earth are we talking about Loghain Mac Tir? I would much rather talk about something else."

"Like what?" she asked. Honestly, the last thing she wanted to do was continue talking to Vaughan Kendalls, but she couldn't see a way to get out of it without being horribly rude. She wished he'd just go away, but he wasn't showing any signs of that.

He smiled, and then he looked at her again, his eyes exploring first her face, and then wandering down the rest of her body. The empty feeling in her stomach grew, and she became very still, her body tensed in case . . . in case of what? She didn't know what to expect, but she felt the need to be ready to move quickly if it became necessary.

"Well, let's talk about you," Vaughan suggested, "Just what does the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever do with her days?"

She blinked with surprise. That was a rather broad question, and she wasn't sure at first how to answer. "Um . . . I . . . well, I do all sorts of things. I go riding with my hound, and hunt with my hawk. I spend a lot of time in the practice yard, and drilling my unit of Regulars. I visit with people in town. Sometimes I deliver babies. Livestock, I mean, not people."

"You deliver livestock?" He laughed. "Why on earth would you do a thing like that?"

"Because sometimes they need help, or the babies or mothers might die."

"Well, of course I know that. What I mean is why would _you_ be doing such a thing? You're a noble lady. You shouldn't be out mucking around with animals." She frowned, and he must have realized his comment offended her because he changed the subject. "A hawk, you say? I like hawking, myself. Do you fly a long wing or a short wing?"

Finally, a question that didn't put her on the spot. "Gwyn is a short wing, a goshawk," she replied, relaxing a little.

"Very nice. Who trained her for you?"

"I trained her myself."

Vaughan laughed. "No, really. Do you have a falconer in Highever, or did you buy the bird already trained from somewhere else?"

"No, really." This conversation was becoming increasingly annoying. "I found her out in the woods, being mobbed by crows, and brought her home and tended her wounds. And then I trained her to hunt. Well, mostly she already knew how to do it. It is what hawks do, after all." He looked like he was about to question her again, so she quickly asked, "Do you have a bird of your own?"

"Two, as a matter of fact. A peregrine and a golden eagle."

"An eagle? How on earth do you hunt with an eagle? They're huge!"

"Yes, well that's part of the skill, isn't it? It's done from horseback, mostly. I don't suppose someone your size would have much luck with an eagle." Then he smiled, sliding still closer to her on the bench. "Not that I think there's anything wrong with your size. You're quite possibly the loveliest girl I've ever seen."

He leaned toward her, and she tried to back away, but he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. Her breath quickened as he put his face just a few inches away from hers. His breath was hot, and smelt faintly of spirits, and she hated the way he was looking at her. She wanted nothing more than to get up and leave, but he had a tight grip on her shoulder.

"Rhianna," he murmured. "That's a very pretty name. For a very pretty girl." Then, he moved even closer, and kissed her on the lips. She pulled back immediately, and he laughed, squeezing her shoulder. "Come now, how are we going to have any fun if you act like that? I just want a kiss from the prettiest girl in Ferelden."

Again he moved toward her, but this time she turned her head so his lips landed on her cheek instead of her mouth.

"Please, ser," she said, putting both of her hands on his chest, prepared to shove him away if he tried to kiss her again. "You're making me nervous. And I don't want to kiss you."

He chuckled. "Now, now. Don't be like that. I know that's not what you tell other boys, is it? Or the teyrn. And it's not what you used to tell King Maric."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on. Everyone knows you're a . . . friendly sort of girl. And it's obvious you were upset about King Maric disappearing at sea. There are stories, you know, about you and the king going off together into the woods. It's nothing to be ashamed of, Rhianna. He was the king. The most powerful man in Ferelden. Too bad he died, or you might have been queen."

"What?" Rhianna said, flustered. "I don't know what sort of stories you've heard, but King Maric was my friend, nothing more. Maker's blood, I was only thirteen when he went missing!"

Vaughan laughed again. "All right, all right. Whatever you say, Rhianna." He looked at her with a smile on his face that reminded her of a wolf just before it went in for the kill. "And anyway, what happened in the past doesn't matter at all. What does matter is that I've decided it's time for you and I to get better acquainted." With the arm around her shoulders, he pulled her up against his chest, putting his free hand on her thigh, which he began to caress through the fabric of her dress. She tried to squirm away, but he shifted his body and shoved her up against the bench. He pinned her shoulders in place with his hands, while he slid one of his knees between her legs so her lower body was trapped, as well.

"Why are you fighting? You know you want this as much as I do." His eyes narrowed, as though he were angry with her. "You've given it to everyone else in the city; I just want a taste of my own. I just want to make you sing for me, princess, in that sweet, sweet voice of yours." One of his hands slid down across her breast.

"Please, stop," she whimpered, but he just pressed himself closer, and squeezed his hand down over her breast. She cried out, and tears came to her eyes, but she forced them back. She didn't want him to know how much he was scaring her.

Vaughan pushed his knee farther up between her legs, and nausea welled up inside her.

Oh, Maker. He intended . . . he intended to . . . _have_ her. That's what this was about, why he had followed her from the great hall. Vaughan, with his hot breath, and his cruel hands, and his smirking face.

He intended to . . . rape her.

O_h Blessed Andraste, no! No, no, no, no, no. Not this. Please, not this. Just let me be away from him, let me be back in the great hall surrounded by people. Or back at the Gwaren Estate, where I was safe with Loghain. Let this be a bad dream, and let me wake up. Please, let me be anywhere but here!_

She inhaled, intending to yell for help, but before she could scream, he thrust his knee up between her legs so hard the pain took her breath away, and he covered her mouth with his hand.

"You don't want to do that, Rhianna," he snarled into her ear, his breath warming her skin. "We're all alone out here, far enough away from the palace that no one is going to find us. We don't want anyone to interrupt our little party."

Her chest heaved with her breath, as she tried to force back both her terror and the tears in her eyes.

_Please, let someone come along and find us here. Please, please, please, please, please. Teyrn Loghain. I want Loghain, I want him to find me and stop this. Please, let him walk around the hedge and make Vaughan stop. Oh, please, Andraste! Please!_

But that wasn't very likely, was it? At the moment, Loghain was surrounded by nobles badgering him about his voyage. And Vaughan was right; they were far away from the palace. In all the times she and Loghain had been here together, she'd never seen a single other person in this part of the garden, and it was a good fifteen minute walk from the palace. It was unlikely Loghain or anyone else would find them out here.

One of Vaughan's hands grabbed at the hem of her gown, and her nausea deepened, along with a thick sense of dread that made it difficult for her to think straight.

No one was coming to help her. She would have to stop Vaughan all by herself. She had to fight. She had to stop him. She _had_ to stop him.

Her dagger. She needed the dagger strapped to her leg.

Twisting her body, she took him by surprise, just managing to push him backwards off of the bench. She leapt up and ran, reaching for her dagger as she went.

She wasn't fast enough, though, and Vaughan was on her in an instant, grabbing her from behind, wrapping one of his arms around her waist. She screamed, but Vaughan roughly covered her mouth with his other hand.

"So, that's how this is going to be?" he hissed into her ear. "Fight all you want, love; it just makes things that much more exciting for me." He began to drag her backwards, off of the path and into the cover of some trees along the edge of the pond. "But if you make another sound, I will hurt you, do you understand?"

Tears began to fall, now. He meant what he had said, she was sure of it. He meant to hurt her, maybe even kill her if she didn't do what he wanted. Perhaps it would be better not to fight. Perhaps that way he wouldn't do anything horrible. She nodded, to indicate she understood, that she would be quiet.

He took his hand off of her mouth. "Not a sound, do you hear me?"

Her back was against his chest, and to punctuate his threat, his free hand groped at one of her breasts. He squeezed down, harder than before. It hurt, but Rhianna stifled the moan of anguish in her throat, too afraid of what he might do if she made any noise.

He tugged up her gown, revealing the dagger strapped to her calf.

"Ah, so this is what you were reaching for!" He bent down just enough to pull it from its sheath, then stood straight and put the tip to her throat. "Just what were you going to do with this, hmmh? Did you really think you had any chance of getting away?"

Rhianna sobbed quietly, as Vaughan reached for the hem of her dress, pulling the skirt high enough so her small clothes were exposed to the air. He slipped the tip of the dagger along her hip, up under the band of her smalls, and cut through the band, nicking her skin in the process. He did the same on the other side, and the scrap of fabric slid down to the ground beneath her feet. Then, with a sweep of his arm, Vaughan tossed the dagger away. It landed with a splash into the pond.

Dragging her backward a few more steps, Vaughan leaned back against a large tree, his arm still tight around her waist as she faced away from him.

"Now, it's just you and me, princess. And you're going to do what I want. I know you've done this before, lots of times, so stop acting like such a baby about it. This doesn't have to be awful for you, you know. I know how to make a woman feel good. When I'm the mood for it." Rhianna's stomach lurched as he grabbed her breast again, kneading it roughly. Nothing about what he was doing to her felt good, but it was clear he knew this, and was enjoying both her pain and her terror. "Either way," he continued. "I intend to do what none of the others has done before, and tell your father all about this. Tell him how you gave yourself to me. Then, he'll have no choice but to allow us to be wed."

What was he talking about, others? What others?

"You're mad, Vaughan," she sobbed. "I'll tell my father you forced me! There's no way he'll make me marry you, not after that."

Vaughan guffawed. "You'll say I forced you? I'll say you begged me for it. It will be your word against mine, and no one will believe you. Everyone in Denerim knows what a little slut you are. I've heard all the talk. About how you went off, not just with the old king, but with Loghain as well. Sightseeing and 'swimming' together. And then, after Maric disappeared and Loghain sailed off to sea, you tried to seduce Cailan, but he threw you out, so instead you lay with his uncle."

Maker's breath, what in the world was he talking about? The king's uncle?

"I . . . d-don't know who told you those things, but none of it is true. I've never done any of that. Never! I haven't been with anyone like that, I s-swear it!"

"Oh, haven't you? I suppose that means you've never blown the horns of both Howe boys, either? And that one I heard first hand, from one of the gentlemen in question." He laughed again. "But I don't care how many men you've lain with, as long as I'm the last. We'll be married. Cailan and Anora have yet to produce an heir, and if something were to happen to the king . . . with you as my wife? I'd easily convince the Landsmeet to make me king."

Blessed Andraste, how could this be happening? It was ridiculous, Vaughan thinking that by marrying her he would be king someday? Was he planning to murder the king in order to make it happen?

Really, though, none of that mattered. He meant to hurt her, and she had to get away from him, before something terrible happened.

_Please, Andraste. Please. _

If only she'd been able to grab her dagger, she could have stopped him easily, but without a weapon?

No, wait. What was it Loghain had written to her? After she'd told him about Sebastian Vael? A knee to the groin, or her thumbs in his eyes. Yes. _Yes._ If she could just get in the right position. If nothing else, she would bash him in the face with her forehead. Perhaps she could fool him into letting his guard down.

She stopped struggling.

"All right," she sniffed. "I'll do what you want. Just please d-don't hurt me," she sobbed. "I know what you heard, but it's not true. N-none of it. I've never done anything like this before, I swear it. And I'm . . . I'm sorry I tried to run away. I'm just . . . I'm . . . scared. I don't want it to hurt."

He loosened his hold on her. Not enough that she could get away, but enough so there was no longer pain where his fingers dug into her breast.

"That's better." With a swift movement, he flipped her around so her back was against the tree, and they were face to face. One of his arms was across her chest, pinning her against the tree. He stared down at her, although all she could see clearly were his eyes, which glittered in the darkness. "Do you really expect me to believe you're a maiden?"

A single tear slid down her face. "I've never done this with anyone. I swear. But I won't fight you any more. Just please . . . please don't hurt me." Another tear. Real tears, not feigned for effect.

He chuckled. "Perhaps you're telling the truth, and the gossips were wrong. Or, perhaps you have an enemy in Denerim who's been making up stories about you. Either way, I do prefer knowing I'll be the first to plow this field. It will make it that much easier to convince your father you should be mine."

His hand returned to the hem of her gown, tugging it upward and pulling her skirt out of the way. The chill wind brought goosebumps to skin of her thighs, and she whimpered, and tried to squirm away.

"Stop fighting!" He leaned into her, pushing her up against the tree. The tree's bark prickled her bare skin, and she felt helpless and exposed, and as scared as she had ever been in her life. She was terrified he was going to touch her, terrified of what he intended to do to her, and she wanted to push him away, she wanted him to stop, but she was afraid if she struggled he would do something that really hurt her, so she kept quiet, and focused on calming her breath, and on the feeling of her tears as they ran down her cheeks, and on the whisper of wind through the oak leaves above her head, and the few stars she could glimpse up above. She needed to wait for the right time.

He released his hold on her dress, and the skirt slipped back down, covering her legs and blocking the chill from the wind. With the hand that was now free, he began to fumble with his waistband of his own clothing,

"No, please. Please, ser. Please don't do this. For the love of Andraste, please stop," she whimpered.

"Hush. You said you'd do what I want, so just quiet down and relax. I doesn't have to hurt, much. But you need to be quiet."

Fresh tears slid down her face. She wanted to kick him. She had never wanted anything more in her entire life than to kick him, to hurt him, to make this man scream out in pain.

But she couldn't, not yet. It was too soon. She mustn't kick him yet. He was undoing his trousers, and his hand was in the way of her target. She had to wait for the right moment, as hitting his hand didn't seem likely to have the desired effect.

"It's going to be all right, Rhianna," he whispered into her ear. "Everything is going to be all right. You'll see."

_Please Andraste, help me. Please._

Finally, he managed to free himself from his trousers, and began to grope again for the hem of her dress.

This was it. Her chance to get away. Maybe her only chance.

She shifted her weight to her right leg. Then, in a single, powerful motion, she brought up her left knee, driving it as hard as she could between Vaughan's legs.

He screamed out and stumbled backward, releasing the hold he had across her body.

The instant his hands were off of her, she ran. She didn't look behind her, she didn't pay attention to where she was going, she just ran. Behind her, Vaughan shouted something, but she didn't look back.

She could hear nothing over the sound of her own breath and the pounding of her shoes on the gravel path. She had no idea whether or not he was following her, and she didn't care. She just needed to be faster than he was, because if he caught her, she was going to be in even more trouble than she'd been before.

If he caught her, he would kill her.

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_As always, a HUGE THANK YOU to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair, as well as to all my lovely reviewers: Melysande, DjinniGenie, Milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Kateskate24, Hugs4Every1, GLCW2 and Katdancer2._

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**TRIGGER WARNING**: This chapter describes the attempted rape of a fifteen-year-old girl. If you think this might be triggering for you, please let me know via private message (or anonymously, via a guest review), and I'll be happy to include a brief synopsis in the next chapter, so you can know the gist of what happened without having to read all the details.


	43. You needn't show him any mercy

_**Trigger Warning**__: Please scroll to the bottom for more information about potentially triggering content in this chapter._

_This chapter also contains a minor spoiler from "The Stolen Throne."_

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_**26 Firstfall, 9:27 Dragon  
Denerim**_

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Surrounded by a small crowd of people, Loghain was being battered endlessly by questions. Except, of course, when he was being battered endlessly by opinions about whether or not his voyage had been a great waste of time and money. Either way, it was boring, tiresome, and increasingly infuriating, as well as uncomfortably warm in the great hall.

When Anora appeared at his side, he felt nothing but relief.

She rested a hand on his shoulder, but addressed the crowd. "Excuse me, but I need to borrow my father for a few minutes." She glanced at Loghain, "If you don't mind?"

Her smile was warm, and her voice calm, but her eyes told a different story. She was worried about something.

"Of course," he agreed, pushing himself up to his feet. Anora led him away from the others, to quiet corner where they could speak in relative privacy.

"Something's wrong," he began. A statement, not a question.

"No. Well, hopefully not. I was just hoping you might go check on Rhianna."

"Rhianna? Why? Did something happen?"

Anora took a deep breath, wringing her hands, as she often did when she was nervous. "I don't know that anything happened. It's just . . . I saw her leave the hall and go out into the garden a while ago. And she hasn't come back yet."

"I wouldn't worry about her. She's probably out at the duck pond feeding the birds. She is still . . . she's just starting to accept that Maric is gone. I expect she wanted some time to herself. I don't blame her; the atmosphere in here is . . . oppressive."

"I'm sure you're right about why she left," Anora agreed, "but . . . Vaughan Kendalls followed her. Well, I don't know for certain he was following her, but I saw him go out into the garden just after she left. And he hasn't come back either."

"Vaughan Kendalls? Is there some reason to be worried about that?"

"While you were away, there was an . . . incident. One of the Kendalls' serving girls died under somewhat mysterious circumstances. She'd been . . . abused, first. And Vaughan's story of what happened that night was not entirely satisfactory. Of course, this being Denerim, and the girl being a servant, the guard didn't make much effort to find out what really happened. But . . . let's just say Vaughan has developed something of a bad reputation. And there was a time last year when he showed an unusual interest in Rhianna. She mentioned it to me the day we rode out together. I just don't like the idea of Rhianna being out there alone with him. If you wouldn't mind going to check, I'd be grateful. Besides," she smiled, "it would get you away from all these questions, at least for a few minutes."

Vaughan Kendalls had been accused of abusing and murdering one of his servants? And Rhianna was alone in the garden with him? Dread, thick and heavy, settled into his stomach.

"I'll go find her."

"Thank you."

Outside, Loghain followed the route he and Rhianna usually took to the duck pond, keeping his eyes and ears open along the way, while he considered what Anora had told him.

Vaughan Kendalls. Loghain had never particularly liked the lad - he was arrogant and bigoted and thought far too highly of himself - but rape and murder? Rhianna hadn't mentioned it in her letters, which meant she probably knew nothing about it.

Which also meant she wouldn't know to be wary if he approached her.

Resisting the urge to shout out her name, Loghain quickened his step. He needed to know where she was, to know she was all right.

And he needed to know those things _now_.

A sound caught his attention, the pounding of feet on the dirt path out of sight behind some trees. Someone running.

Hurrying in the direction of the sound, he reached a bend in the path just as someone hurtled around the blind corner. It was Rhianna, and she ran headlong into him, as though she hadn't seen him there. Loghain grabbed her shoulders, struggling to keep from being knocked off his feet.

"No!" she screamed, a sharp note of terror in her voice. "Don't touch me! Stop it! Let go of me! LET GO!" She twisted her body and punched her fists into his chest, fighting to get away.

Loghain released her from his grasp, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Rhianna," he shouted, as she stumbled backward, crouching down as though preparing to make an attack. "Rhianna, stop! It's me. It's Loghain."

At the sound of his voice, she looked up into his face, panting heavily and all the fight went out of her. She moaned, and ran toward him, throwing her arms around his neck before collapsing against him. She began to sob, her body heaving with the effort. Scooping her up into his arms, he carried her to a nearby bench.

Anora had said Vaughan Kendalls abused the dead serving girl.

If that man had hurt Rhianna, Loghain would kill him.

When her sobbing began to subside, he pulled away from her gently, and tugged on her chin so he could look into her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed and unhappy, her skin alarmingly pale, especially against the black fabric of her gown.

"Rhianna. What happened? Are you injured?"

Her breath caught, and she struggled to calm it before answering. "I . . . I . . . no, I'm not hurt. I'm . . . I'm just . . . I . . . it was Vaughan. Vaughan Kendalls. H-he attacked me and I'm . . . I was so scared." She started crying again, and Loghain pulled her against his chest, fighting back nausea.

_No, please. Blessed Andraste, by all that is holy, please don't let that monster have hurt Rhianna. Please. Not like _that_. _

"It's all right, love," Loghain soothed, stroking her hair. "You're safe now. You're safe with me, I promise." Anger rose up inside of him, white and hot, threatening to overwhelm him. He took deep, deliberate breaths, fighting back the urge to run off and find Kendalls, to tear the man apart with his bare hands. Instead, he focused on the girl in his arms, whispering comforting words in her ear.

She said Kendalls had scared her. Perhaps that was all that had happened, and nothing more. She did know how to defend herself, after all.

"Rhianna." He took both of her hands in his own. "Tell me what happened." He dreaded what she might say next, but needed to know for certain. "I know this is difficult, but I need to know exactly what Vaughan did."

She closed her eyes, briefly, then looked into his face and began to speak. "I . . . I was out by the duck pond. I just wanted to be alone for a few minutes. It was so noisy in the hall, and too warm." She ran a hand across her face, pushing her hair away from her forehead. "And then Vaughan came and sat with me, too close on the bench. He seemed to think I agreed to meet him, even though I swear I hadn't. We talked for a few minutes, well, he asked me questions, mostly, and then he tried to kiss me, and when I asked him to stop, he got really angry. I tried to get away but he grabbed me and took my dagger, and pulled me off of the path. H-he pushed me up against a tree and . . . he . . . h-he . . . he tried to . . . force me. To . . ." She looked down at her hands, "to, you know," her body shuddered as she shook her head from side to side, "to do _it_. With him." She put her face in her hands.

"Tried? You fought him off? You were able to stop him?"

She returned her hands to her lap. "Yes. I stopped him." She took a ragged breath. "I kicked him, just like you wrote in your letter." Finally, she looked up into his eyes. "I kicked him between his legs, and when he let go of me, I ran away as fast as I could." Her bottom lip quivered, but she didn't begin crying again. She looked away from Loghain, clearly uncomfortable, and sniffed a few times.

"I think he's gone mad," she said. "He said he would tell my father I'd lain with him, so Father would make us get married. I told Vaughan I would say he forced me, but he said no one would believe me because everyone knows I'm a . . . a . . . everyone knows I'd lain with King Maric, and with you, and Bann Teagan, maybe? And there was something about Nathaniel and Thomas Howe, and . . . " She sobbed again. "But I've never done anything like that, not with anyone, and I don't know who said I did. Habren and Thomas, I guess. But Vaughan said once he and I were married, if something happened to King Cailan, Vaughan would convince the Landsmeet to make him the king." She started to cry again.

That bastard. That miserable, sodding bastard. The sight of Rhianna so panicked and terrified . . . Loghain could barely contain his rage. Vaughan Kendalls would pay for this. Dearly.

He pulled Rhianna close against his chest. She curled up willingly in his embrace, and he held her until her breathing returned to normal.

"Do you think he's still out there?" she whispered.

"That depends. How hard did you kick him?"

"As hard as I could."

"Good." A grim smile crossed his lips. Rhianna was capable of a kick that would have incapacitated Kendalls for several minutes at least. "It's possible he's still there, not able to walk away yet."

"What if he comes after me again? Tonight? Or some other night?" Her voice trembled. "He was mad at me anyway, for telling him no. But now that I've kicked him, I'm afraid he'll be really, really angry."

If Vaughan were stupid enough to show his face here and now, the man would be lucky to get away with his life. Very lucky.

Loghain grasped her chin, and gently turned her face up to his. Her bottom lip quivered and her eyes looked as frightened as he had ever seen them. "You don't need to be scared of Vaughan Kendalls, Rhianna. I'm here with you, and even if he finds us, I won't let him hurt you anymore. And later on, I will make certain he never bothers you. Ever again."

"But I need to go back there," she murmured.

"Why?"

"My dagger. The one you gave me. He threw it into the pond. I need to get it back."

"If it's in the pond, no one else will find it tonight, love. It will be better if you and I go back for it in the morning." If Vaughan was still there, Loghain didn't want Rhianna to have to see him. Nor did he want her to witness what he intended to do when he did find the man. "If that's all right with you?"

"Yes, that would be all right. As long as I'm able to find it. I feel . . . helpless without it."

She leaned against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist, and he rested his cheek on the top of her head, and they sat like that for a few minutes before he spoke again.

"Do you want to go back to the wake, or do you want me to take you home?"

"I want to go home," she whispered.

"All right. But first, we'll have to let your parents know."

"No!" She sat up abruptly, shaking her head. "No. I don't want them to know about this!"

He put his hands on her shoulders. "I just meant we'll have to let your parents know you're leaving the palace. But . . . at some point, you should probably tell them what Vaughan did."

She shook her head again. "No. I don't want them to know. As it is, Father doesn't let me go anywhere on my own anymore, not here in Denerim. If he finds out about this, he'll probably hire another nanny for me. For all I know, he'll decide I can't even leave the castle after we get back to Highever, and I couldn't bear that. If I have to tell someone, I'll tell Fergus. But not my parents. Please don't force me to tell them."

Maker's balls. Bryce and Eleanor deserved to know about this. They needed to know about it. Eventually. But Rhianna had already been forced into enough for one evening.

"All right," he promised, "But we'll have to tell them something to explain why you want to leave early. And why you've been crying."

"I'll just say I'm really sad about King Maric. It is true, after all." She put her face in her hands, sobbing twice and then sniffing before looking up at Loghain again. "I know my face must look awful from crying, but do I look all right otherwise?" She looked down at her hands, and at her dress, and Loghain did the same. Considering what she'd been through, she looked fine. Her dress wasn't dirty or torn, although her hair was a bit mussed, so he reached up and smoothed it back into place.

"You look fine," he assured her. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, please."

He offered her a hand, and together they returned to the great hall.

Inside, the wake had grown even noisier. A deep frown settled onto his face. All that was missing were musicians, and it would be a proper party. Then again, perhaps he shouldn't judge. Maric would not have wanted everyone to be miserable, and mourn him indefinitely. Even so, this was unseemly for something meant to be a wake.

Bah. Either way, he needed to get away from here, away from the noise and the people. Reentering the great hall, being reminded of the purpose of this gathering, had reawakened his grief about Maric. And now, on top of it, was a layer of rage at Vaughan Kendalls.

There was nothing to do about his grief. But the rage could most assuredly be addressed.

He glanced around and spotted Eleanor and Fergus in conversation with Alfstanna Eremon and a woman he didn't recognize. At the other end of the room, Bryce was with Rendon and Leonas, as usual. Loghain steered Rhianna in Eleanor's direction.

As they approached, the teyrna's face grew tight with concern.

"Rhianna?" She grasped the girl gently by the shoulders. "What is it, darling? What's wrong? You look like you've been crying," she murmured, as though not wanting to attract attention.

"I'm all right, Mother," Rhianna replied. "I would like to go home, though. It's too noisy in here, and I'm feeling really sad. About King Maric."

"I'm more than happy to escort her," Loghain added.

"That won't be necessary," Eleanor replied. "I'll take her home. There's no need for you to leave, Loghain."

"No, really," Loghain said with a chuckle. "You'd be doing me a huge favor. If I stay here, I'll be asked endless questions about the voyage, and it's possible I'll get so annoyed I'll end up doing something I might regret later." Eleanor chuckled at this. "So, please, Eleanor. You and Bryce stay. I'll make sure Rhianna gets home safely."

Eleanor studied her daughter's face. Noticing the scrutiny, Rhianna smiled. Not a particularly hearty smile, but it was better than nothing.

"Oh, all right," Eleanor agreed. She turned back to Loghain. "As long as you're certain you don't mind leaving early, it's fine with me."

Loghain caught Fergus' eye, and nodded at the younger man before shrugging his head in the direction of the door. A silent request for Fergus to join them.

The younger man's brow wrinkled for a moment, but then he stepped forward. "You know what?" Fergus said, putting his hand on his mother's shoulder and giving her a smile, "I think I've had enough of people for tonight, myself. I'll go with them, Mother. That way you and Father can stay as long as you like."

"Are you sure?" Eleanor asked.

"Of course. Besides, it's hardly fair for me to leave Oriana by herself all evening. She'll be happy for some company after Oren has gone to bed."

"All right," the teyrna agreed. She kissed Rhianna on the forehead. "You're going to be all right, darling?"

"Of course. I'm fine," Rhianna replied. "Good night, Mother. I'll probably go to bed right away, so I'll see you in the morning."

As Loghain, Rhianna and Fergus walked toward the door, they were approached by the queen. Anora's expression looked calm, but there was concern in her eyes.

"Are the three of you leaving?" Anora asked politely.

"Yes," Loghain said, turning to Rhianna and Fergus. "You two go on ahead. I'll catch up with you in minute." Fergus nodded, and he and his sister continued toward the door.

"What happened?" Anora whispered. "Rhianna looks . . . upset. Did she . . . did . . ."

"She's all right," Loghain assured, looking directly into his daughter's eyes. "You were right to send me after her, but she knows how to defend herself, and did so admirably. I'll tell you the rest tomorrow, but I promise you Rhianna is fine."

With a sigh of relief, Anora nodded. "Good," she said. "Thank you." She reached her arms around her father's neck and pulled him into an embrace. He was startled by the unexpected gesture; Anora was not generally demonstrative when other people were around. After only a moment's hesitation, though, he returned the hug gratefully.

"I'm going to take Rhianna home," he said.

"Are you coming back here afterwards?"

"No."

She nodded, requiring no explanation. "Be careful," she whispered.

"I will." Loghain turned, and joined Fergus and Rhianna, where they waited at the door.

Fergus and Loghain, with Rhianna between them, walked in silence for several minutes. Once they were well away from the palace, Fergus spoke.

"Elsie, did something happen out in the garden? Something that upset you?"

Rhianna chewed briefly at her bottom lip. "Yes."

"Do you want to tell me about it? I'm assuming you do."

Rhianna glanced at Loghain, and he nodded.

"When I was out by the duck pond, Vaughan Kendalls came and . . . well, he . . . he tried to . . . um . . ." her voice trailed off.

Fergus stopped walking.

"Vaughan Kendalls?" He took his sister by the shoulders, his eyes wide. He glanced at Loghain, and then back into his sister's face. Judging by the lad's expression, Fergus was aware of Vaughan's reputation. "Rhianna, what did Vaughan do?"

"Nothing." Her voice was firm, and didn't tremble as it had in the garden. "Not really." Still, she was unable to hold her brother's gaze, and looked down at the cobblestones. "He grabbed me, and pulled me into the woods, and he was going to . . ." Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back. "He tried to . . . force me to . . . to . . . you know. But I stopped him. I kicked him as hard as I could and I ran away and then I found Teyrn Loghain in the garden and I knew I was safe."

"That bastard . . ." Fergus's eyes flashed as his fingers tightened on Rhianna's arms.

She winced, and made a sound in the back of her throat.

Fergus let go, as if he'd touched something hot. "Maker! Did I hurt you?"

"It's all right. It's not your fault," she insisted. "I think I have bruises, from where Vaughan grabbed me."

"Oh, Elsie." A stricken look on his face, Fergus wrapped his arms around his sister, pulling her close. Rhianna hugged him back, and for a minute they stood in a silent embrace, while Loghain stood silently by.

With his sister still held close in his arms, Fergus caught Loghain's eye, raising a brow in an unspoken question: _We're going to do something about this, aren't we?_

Loghain nodded. Oh yes. They would do something about this.

Finally pulling away from Rhianna, Fergus grasped her shoulders again, gently this time. "Are you certain you're not in need of a healer?"

"I'm certain," she replied. "I'm all right. I just want to go home."

Fergus nodded, and putting his arm around his sister's shoulders, led the way toward the Highever estate.

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Oriana was surprised to hear footsteps in the hall, and hushed voices. It was early still; she hadn't expected the rest of the family home for at least another hour. And if she wasn't mistaken, one of the male voices did not belong to either Fergus or Bryce.

Odd.

She set down the book she was reading, and had just gotten up from the couch when Fergus, Rhianna, and Loghain Mac Tir entered the library.

Something was wrong. Just one look at their faces - Rhianna's tearstained, and Fergus and Loghain looking grim - and Oriana knew something was dreadfully wrong.

Dane, who had been slumbering by the fire, was at his mistress' feet in a flash. Rhianna reached down to scratch behind his ears, and he whined, nudging his forehead against her leg, as though he were extremely distressed.

"Fergus?" Oriana asked.

"Hello, love," he replied. "Would you mind getting four glasses, and a bottle of . . . something? Anything."

"Of course."

Fergus and Rhianna sat on the sofa, while Loghain remained standing. He crossed to the hearth, and stared into the flames. The expression on his face was frightening: his eyes narrowed, his mouth tight, his arms tensed as though he were having trouble not clenching his hands into fists. He looked like he wanted to kill someone.

A finger of fear trailed its way down her spine.

Maker. What in the world had happened?

After offering a glass of port to Loghain, Oriana settled herself on the sofa beside Rhianna. The girl was trembling, just slightly but enough so it was clear she was upset about something. Oriana took one of Rhianna's hands; her skin was cold.

"Rhianna, sweetheart? Is everything all right?"

"I'm all right now. It's just . . . um . . ." She glanced at Fergus. "Will you explain, please. I don't want to have to say it again."

So Fergus explained.

Oriana fought back tears. No wonder Loghain looked murderous; Oriana felt the same. Damn Vaughan Kendalls. _Damn_ him!

She gently squeezed Rhanna's hand, hoping to comfort her, and the girl looked up and gave a half-hearted smile that almost immediately slipped away again.

Oriana caught Fergus' gaze. She couldn't remember ever seeing him like this before. Not just angry, but a cold fury burning in his eyes. An anger that needed to be acted upon. Though not a word about it had been spoken, Oriana knew Fergus and Loghain intended to confront Vaughan.

As they should.

"Rhianna," Oriana urged, "let's get you upstairs and into a bath, and then to bed."

The girl nodded, a dazed look in her eyes, as though the events of the evening had caught up with her, and she was overwhelmed and overtired and didn't have the energy for anything else. The three who had been seated all stood at once, and Fergus embraced his sister, kissing her forehead. Then Loghain crossed to her side. He said nothing, instead taking her face gently between his hands. He looked into her eyes and after a moment, she nodded, as though some silent communication had passed between them. Then he, too, leaned close to place a kiss on her forehead, his lips lingering there for the space of a breath.

Oriana stepped close to Fergus. "She's your sister; you needn't show him any mercy. Just be careful, my love. Please."

He nodded, and she squeezed his shoulder before ushering Rhianna up the stairs.

Rhianna readily agreed to Oriana's suggestion of a bath. But after the servants had filled the tub with hot water, Rhianna sat down on her bed, making no move to get undressed.

Oriana sat beside her.

"Rhianna, you should get in the bath, before the water gets cold."

"I know." Rhianna bit her lip. "But I don't want you to see . . . what he did to me. I have bruises on my arms, I'm sure of it. And maybe other places as well."

Oriana put her arm around the girl's shoulders. "That's why I'm here, sweetheart. I need to see what happened. Make sure you're not injured. It will be all right, I promise."

"You won't tell my parents? Promise you won't tell them," Rhianna insisted.

"You don't want them to know?" Rhianna shook her head. "All right," Oriana agreed, "I promise." She paused. "Rhianna, there's something I need to ask you."

"What is it?"

"Did you tell Teyrn Loghain and Fergus the truth? About what Vaughan did?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said you got away before he . . . well," Oriana took a deep breath. "Did you really get away in time? Before he put himself inside of you? I need to know for certain. You're not going to be in trouble either way. Regardless of what Vaughan did, it wasn't your fault, and I promise not tell anyone else, ever. But I need to know if there's some chance you might get sick, or be with child. If something happened, something you didn't want to tell your brother or the teyrn, you need to tell me. I can give you something to make certain you won't have a baby. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Rhianna nodded.

"Did Vaughan put himself inside of you?"

"No, he didn't. I promise. I kicked him and ran away before he was able to do it. I swear."

Oriana's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, as she let out the breath she had been holding. Thank the Maker. At least there would be no need to give Rhianna a draught to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. The thought of her little sister having a child at this age - especially fathered by a pig like Vaughan - was too awful to contemplate. It was unlikely Eleanor and Bryce would have forced Rhianna to marry the man, even if she had conceived his child, but that was a risk not worth taking.

"Go ahead and get into the bath," Oriana urged. "Let me see where he hurt you, and I can get a poultice if necessary."

With a small, almost defeated sigh, Rhianna complied, carefully stripping off her black mourning gown. She had darkening spots on her arms where Vaughan's fingers had grabbed her, and a bruise blooming across one of her shoulders, but it didn't look like the girl had sustained any damage requiring the assistance of a healer. Most troubling were her missing small clothes, and a small wound, a trickle of dried blood beneath, along one of her hip bones.

Andraste's arse. Oriana believed what Rhianna had said: that she'd gotten away in time. But obviously Kendalls had come close - much too close - to violating her.

Yes. Oriana was glad her husband and the teyrn had gone out again. They needed to find Vaughan, and make absolutely certain he never came anywhere near Rhianna ever again.

Oriana sat at the end of the tub as Rhianna stepped into the water. The older woman urged Rhianna to lean back and dip her hair in the water, and Oriana washed it and rinsed it for her. Then, she gave the girl time to wash herself before helping her out of the tub and into a long-sleeved gown that covered her arms. Less chance of Eleanor or Bryce seeing the bruises, which would make it difficult to keep the secret Rhianna wished to have kept.

When Rhianna climbed into bed, Oriana asked, "Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep?"

"Yes, please."

Oriana slipped in beside Rhianna, putting her arms around the girl and pulling her close. Rhianna lifted her head briefly and looked around.

"Where's Dane? Why didn't he come upstairs with us?" No surprise she would miss him; usually, her hound was never farther than a few feet away.

"I think he's with Fergus," Oriana reassured. "He'll be here when you wake up in the morning."

When Rhianna lay down again, Oriana hugged her sister-in-law gently and stroked the girl's hair, hoping her touch would help Rhianna to know she was safe now.

•o•o•o•o•o•

As soon as Rhianna and Oriana left the library, Fergus turned to Loghain.

"We're going after him, aren't we?"

"Yes."

At Loghain's feet, Dane huffed softly.

"Dane will be joining us, as well," Loghain added.

Fergus downed what was left of his port. "So, where should we look first? Do you think he'll have gone home? What in the world are we going to do if he's already gone home?"

"If he's at home, we'll go in after him," Loghain replied. "But hopefully, he'll have felt the need to get drunk first, which means we'll find him out on the streets."

Drunk, but not too drunk. Much better to confront the man when he was mostly sober, knowing Vaughan would feel - and remember - every single thing that was done to him.

"Let's start back at the palace, in the garden," Loghain continued. "Dane can follow his scent from there."

Half an hour later, the three companions arrived at the duck pond, and Dane trotted over to the bench. He sniffed it, crouching low and growling, deep in his throat. The scent of his mistress' fear distressed him greatly, and there was another smell, an unfamiliar male smell, which stank of violence and lust.

Dane turned his gaze on Loghain, and whined. That was the smell they needed to find, the man who had frightened his mistress.

Loghain stroked the dog's broad head. "I know," he soothed. "That's why we've come. Show us where he went from here."

Dane turned, and raced into the woods, toward a medium-sized oak tree. Something lay on the ground in its shadow, a scrap of light-colored fabric gleaming softly in the moonlight. Loghain picked it up.

A pair of smalls, the sort worn by young girls. They appeared to have been cut through in two places by a dagger.

Rage and nausea flooded through him as his fist tightened around the mangled fabric. As Fergus approached from behind, Loghain tucked the scrap of clothing into his pocket. There was no need to trouble Fergus with this, or with the question it raised.

What if Rhianna had lied about what Vaughan had done? What if he had succeeded in raping her, and Rhianna was too scared or ashamed to admit it?

Loghain closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree. Rhianna said Vaughan pushed her up against a tree, probably this very tree. If she lied, if Vaughan had raped her, they had almost certainly stood on this very spot while it happened.

Loghain's breath caught in his chest at the thought of Rhianna struggling in vain as Vaughan pushed himself inside of her. And then another imaged flashed through his mind, this time not something from his imagination, but a memory: his mother, held down by the Orlesian chevalier commander. Her screaming, her obvious pain, the blood trickling from her lip where the commander had struck her with his gauntlet. The way his father struggled at Loghain's side, as both of them were held back by soldiers, forced to watch, unable to stop what was happening. Eventually, the soldiers knocked the older man over the head to keep him quiet, leaving Loghain as the only witness to the dagger at his mother's throat . . .

Bile rose up in his throat, and he had to breathe slowly, forcing the nausea down.

"Loghain? Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes and forced his fists to unclench as he looked at Fergus. The boy looked concerned. "I'm fine." Turning to Dane, he added, "Let's find this bastard."

The hound huffed in agreement, and then hurried out of the woods and along one of the paths that led out of the garden, away from the palace itself. Easily following the man's scent, Dane led Fergus and Loghain into the streets of Denerim. They soon left the palace district and headed through some of the city's back alleys. A surprising route for Vaughan to have taken; the man seemed a bit too haughty to know his way around this part of town.

Soon, however, their destination became apparent: Blytheswood Lane, where many of Denerim's whores plied their trade by walking the streets. It was not an area often frequented by members of the nobility, who usually sought release at the Pearl, a brothel in a somewhat better part of the city. Blytheswood saw mostly low-wage tradesmen, bandits and thieves, and sailors who were short on coin. Loghain himself had never been here after dark, nor taken advantage of any of the services offered. And surely Fergus Cousland had never been here at all.

"Oy, darlings." A woman with a heavily painted face, blonde hair piled high on her head, and a corset from which the tops of her nipples showed, approached them. "You're an handsome couple. Twenty silvers for the both of you, at the same time, any way you like. Discount tonight, in honor of the dead king, Maker save him. The dog'll cost extra, though, if that's what you're after."

Fergus' eyes grew very wide, and the color drained from his face.

"No, thank you," Loghain replied. "We're just out for a walk this evening."

"Sure you are," she scoffed, clearly disappointed not to be getting their business. "Such a lovely neighborhood for an evening stroll. I'll wager you're looking for the rough trade, then? Maybe a nice little pooy for the two of you to share? Well, good luck with that," she finished, before retreating back into the shadows against what appeared to be a boarded-up shack.

Loghain and Fergus continued to follow Dane, who was nosing around the side of a building further up the lane.

"What did she mean, we were looking for a 'pooy?'" Fergus asked.

Loghain lifted a brow. "A boy. She thinks we want a boy."

"Oh," Fergus said. Then his eyes grew wide again. "Oh!"

Before he had the chance to say anything more, Dane barked, once, before turning and running off down an alley. The two men followed, finding themselves moving into an even worse section of town.

At the entrance to a particularly dark alley, Dane crouched down on his haunches, growing deep in his throat. From where Fergus and Loghain stood, it appeared to lead to a dead end, although without a torch in hand, it was difficult to see to the far end. Loghain didn't see any movement, just piles of refuse and old crates. What on earth Vaughan would be doing here was beyond Loghain's imagination, but Dane was clearly distressed about something.

The three companions moved slowly into the alley. Loghain pulled his dagger from his boot, and Fergus did the same, but they saw no sign of Vaughan, or of anyone else, for that matter.

When they reached the end, Dane pushed his nose into Loghain's hand, and gave a mournful whine, and there was a groan, barely audible, and Loghain realized one of the piles he'd take for refuse wasn't refuse at all, but a person crumpled upon the ground.

He hurried to kneel beside the prone figure: a woman with dark hair and pale skin, her lip bleeding, and one of her eyes already turning black from where she had been hit with some force. A woman who looked enough like Rhianna, to make his heart beat faster.

Of course it wasn't her. It couldn't possibly be her. But for a moment, he had feared it was.

On closer inspection, the resemblance was only superficial; this woman was older than Rhianna, in her early twenties, probably. She groaned again, turning her head to one side and reaching up to feel at her split lip. Loghain reached down and grasped one of her shoulders, thinking to help her sit up. But as soon as he made contact with her, she startled, and pulled away.

"Get off me, you bastard!" She pulled herself backwards on the ground, using her elbows for leverage, and Loghain immediately stepped back. He didn't want to cause her any additional anxiety on top of what she'd already been through. This was almost certainly Vaughan's handiwork; it was, after all, the man's scent that had led them here.

When she stopped retreating, she stared up at them with an expression that was a mixture of fear, pain, and fury. Loghain could see the beginnings of what looked like bruises on her throat, as though she had been strangled. Her clothes were shabby, but well-made, revealing enough of her body to mark her as a prostitute. One of her breasts had come free of the corset, the pale skin glowing in the dim light.

"It's all right," Loghain. "We're not going to hurt you. I promise." As if to prove the point, he sheathed his dagger and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, and took another step away from her.

Her eyes went from Loghain to Fergus, and then back to Loghain. She didn't seem alarmed by Dane's presence at all. She pulled herself up to a half-sitting position, taking a moment to tuck herself back into the corset. Then she extended her hand to the hound. Crouched low, as though he wanted to appear as unthreatening as possible, Dane crept toward her, first sniffing and then licking her hand. He whined, in sympathy.

"Did you see him?" she asked, once again looking up at Loghain. "The man that did this to me?"

"We didn't see anyone leave the alley, but I'm fairly certain we know the man who attacked you. Tall, auburn hair, with a short mustache and beard?"

"Dressed in fine clothes, like the both of you, as well?" she added. "Yeah, that's him."

"Maker's breath," Fergus muttered. "Vaughan did this?" Fergus stepped forward, offering the woman his hand. "Please. Please, let me help you."

After a moment of hesitation while she studied him through narrowed eyes, she reached up and grasped his hand. As he helped her to her feet, she winced in pain, and stumbled for a moment. Fergus steadied her arm, and she gave him a nod, but didn't smile.

"Are you badly injured?" Loghain asked.

"Me?" she scoffed. One of her eyes was swollen nearly closed, and the split in her lip was still oozing blood. "I've had worse. What I want to know is what you two blokes are doing at the end of this sodding alley."

"We were looking for the man who did this to you," Loghain replied.

"Well, I wish you'd found him a bit sooner." She gave a barking laugh. "What do you want with him anyway?"

"He hurt my sister," Fergus said.

"Can't say I'm surprised. He's a piece of work, that one."

"May I ask what happened?" Loghain said.

She shrugged. "I was working Blytheswood and he offered to engage my services. I should have known something was wrong when he brought me out here. Fellow like that has money for a room with a bed, if you know what I mean. But he said he preferred the alley. Wanted to do it standing up. Usually it makes no difference to me, one way or another. But once we got started, he couldn't perform, if you know what I mean. Whiskey dick, or so I thought, except he didn't seem nearly drunk enough for that. But nothing I could do would get him up, and he seemed to be in a fair amount of pain, and . . . well, he lost his temper, didn't he? He hit me a few times, and then put his hands around my throat and I thought I was done for sure. I must have passed out, but I guess he gave up before he'd wrung all the life out of me. Probably an accident on his part. I got the feeing he's done this sort of thing before, and wouldn't lose any sleep over anything that happened to me."

Loghain considered again her dark hair and pale skin. Almost as though Vaughan had chosen her deliberately, so he could take out his lust for Rhianna on a whore. When he couldn't get an erection, that lust had turned to rage.

Loghain felt sick to his stomach.

Beside him Fergus looked uneasy. "Shouldn't we call for the guard? Tell them Vaughan did this, have him arrested?"

"Arrested? Hah!" the woman laughed. "In case you didn't notice, I'm a whore, love. You think anyone's going to care what that bastard did to me? Not bloody likely. Especially if he's as high and mighty as I suspect he is. Just like the two of you are."

"She's right," Loghain agreed. "Vaughan will deny it, and there is no way the son of the Arl of Denerim will be tried for a crime like this. Not here in the city. The only consequences Vaughan Kendalls will suffer tonight will have to come from us."

"Son of the arl?" She sounded impressed. "Well, that is something, isn't it? I've never been beaten up by anyone quite so important before. I suppose it's not exactly the sort of story one saves up for telling the grandkids, though, is it?"

Loghain's lips twitched at the corners. He liked this woman. Even beaten and almost killed, she had a sense of humor. All the more reason to find Vaughan. "No. I don't suppose it is."

"Let us take you to a healer," Fergus insisted. "Or at least help you back home." This must be difficult for the lad; Fergus, along with the rest of his generation, had lived relatively sheltered, peaceful lives. And knowing Fergus Cousland, nothing in his sheltered life had prepared him for random violence against prostitutes.

"No. Like I said, I've had worse. You two should be on your way. You said he attacked your sister?"

"Yes."

"She all right?"

"Yes. Thankfully."

"That's a blessing, then. But your friend is right. Sounds like the two of you, and your hound, have some revenge to be looking after. As for me, I can take care of myself."

"I could give you some money . . ." Fergus offered.

"I don't want no money I didn't earn. And, no offense love, but I'm in no mood to earn money from you, or anyone else, tonight. Now go. I mean it. Get on with you."

"We're going," Loghain agreed. He had no doubt she was capable of getting home on her own.

He turned, and began to walk back down the alley, with Dane close behind. After a moment, Fergus followed.

"Oy!" she called out. Loghain stopped and turned back. "Take good care of the bastard, will you? Kick him an extra one for me? In the kidneys, mayhap. I like the sound of that."

"We will," Loghain replied. "I promise."

Back on the main street, Dane again took the lead.

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing?" Fergus asked. "She'd been beaten badly. I feel like we should do something more for her."

"We respected her wishes, which is probably more than she gets from most of the people she deals with. You don't survive that life long without being self-sufficient. I promise, we did the right thing. You do still want to go after Kendalls, don't you?"

"More than ever."

"Then let's find him."

The hound led them further into the slums of Denerim, until finally he stopped outside a small tavern called the Weeping Willow. Here, Dane sat down beside the door. Vaughan was inside.

"Shall we go in after him?" Fergus asked, sounding eager to confront the man who had attacked his sister and beaten an innocent woman.

"No. Let's wait for him to come out, and see where he goes. We need to find the right time and place, and it would be better not to have an audience."

"All right," Fergus agreed. "But when the time comes, I want to be the one to confront him. The first one, anyway. She's my sister."

"As you wish."

They settled themselves in the shadows alongside a nearby building, out of the torchlight illuminating the street and the view of passersby.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Oriana lay beside Rhianna until the girl's breathing fell into a regular pattern of sleep. Then, feeling the need for a glass of brandy, Oriana went downstairs toward the sitting room.

Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she heard voices: Eleanor and Bryce were home. Oriana met them in the hall.

"Hello there." Oriana forced a bright smile to her face.

"Hello, Oriana," Eleanor smiled. "I hope you had a pleasant evening."

"Yes, it was lovely and quiet. At least until your children arrived home. I trust you both enjoyed the evening? Well, as much as one can enjoy a wake."

"It was fine." Bryce sounded tired. "A lot of talk about whether or not Loghain should have been allowed to spend so much money sailing around the world and back again. Frankly, I'm glad Rhianna left early. She would have hated it. I know she didn't give up on Maric until the very end, and it was clear from the discussion tonight that hardly anyone else in Ferelden shared her optimism. They all assumed he was dead right from the start, and resent the expense of Loghain going to look for him."

"How is Rhianna?" Eleanor asked. "She's not ill, is she? She didn't look at all well when she and Fergus left with Loghain."

"Rhianna's fine," Oriana reassured. "I think she's just overtired. As you said, the king's death seems to be hitting her hard. Probably because her correspondence with the teyrn kept her hopes alive all this time."

Bryce led the way into the study, where he poured himself a drink, and offered the bottle to Eleanor and Oriana.

"Where is Fergus?" he asked, looking around the room as if expecting to see his son there.

"He's out." Oriana paused only a moment before adding, "With Teyrn Loghain."

"Fergus is out with Loghain? That's a switch," Eleanor said with a laugh. "I've never known the two of them to spend much time together. Of course, that's because Rhianna usually likes to have the teyrn all to herself."

"What are the two of them doing tonight?" Bryce frowned, and Oriana could almost hear the thoughts in his head. It wasn't like Fergus to go out at night leaving his wife home alone, and especially not with Loghain. Oriana had long suspected that Bryce didn't approve of the teyrn, although she honestly couldn't understand why. Well, perhaps she could understand. It was probably difficult for him to see his daughter so obviously fond of another man.

Still, it would have made more sense to capitalize on this, and encourage a match between the two of them. Rhianna could hardly do better than becoming the teyrna of Gwaren, and clearly the two of them genuinely liked one another. It seemed perfect, really. But Bryce's frown spoke volumes about his dislike of the man in question.

"Well," Oriana replied, "between us, I think Loghain is more than a bit torn up about Maric's death. Like Rhianna, he's only recently accepted the reality of it. He mentioned something about going out for a drink, and I think Fergus went along mostly to make sure the teyrn doesn't get himself into any trouble."

"Trouble? That seems unlikely. Loghain's never been a man to drink to excess," Eleanor said.

"Yes," Oriana countered, "but he lit the pyre at the funeral of his best friend today. I expect he might be somewhat out of sorts. So," she continued, wanting to change the subject, as well as distract herself from considering just what sort of "trouble" her husband and Loghain might be getting into right now, "tell me all the gossip you heard from Lady Harriet. She usually comes up with something worthy of a good laugh."

•o•o•o•o•o•

Loghain, Fergus and Dane didn't wait long before there was a commotion at the door to the tavern.

Amidst shouting, and the sharp banging of the door being opened with some force, Vaughan Kendalls emerged, looking haggard and walking quickly, as though he had just been asked in no uncertain terms to leave. He stalked off without staggering, so perhaps he wasn't completely drunk.

The two men and the dog followed at a reasonable distance, and it soon became apparent Vaughan was making his way back towards the wealthier part of town; probably heading home.

So, where to confront him? Perhaps because the people of Denerim had said goodbye to a beloved king earlier in the day, the streets were only sparsely populated, even though it was not yet terribly late. It would probably not be difficult to find somewhere quiet, where they weren't likely to be seen. Not that Loghain cared about witnesses for his own sake, but if he had to explain why he and Fergus had attacked the Arl of Denerim's son, Rhianna's name would be brought into it. And he didn't want to risk being interrupted before he and Fergus had made it absolutely clear to Vaughan that he needed to stay far, far away from Rhianna Cousland in the future.

Vaughan crossed the main road and turned into a run-down back street, apparently a shortcut to the Denerim estate. The street was poorly lit, and not a soul could be seen. This would do. Loghain nudged Fergus' arm to get the younger man's attention, and then nodded, indicating it was time for them to make their move.

Loghain and Dane stepped into the shadows at one side of the alley, while Fergus strode into the middle of the street and called out, just loud enough for Vaughan to hear without alerting anyone else who might be in the area.

"Vaughan Kendalls."

Vaughan whirled around, looking for the source of the sound. He took a few steps forward, and then another few steps. "Who is that?" he asked, sounding annoyed by the interruption.

Fergus strode closer. "Hello, Vaughan."

Vaughan's eyes grew wide, and he took a step backward in surprise.

"Fergus Cousland?" His speech was clear. Good. Vaughan wasn't too far gone with drink. "What . . . what in the world are you doing here? At this time of night?" He chuckled. "This isn't exactly the part of town where I would expect to find the teyrn's son."

"This isn't exactly the part of town where I would usually be found," Fergus replied. "But here I am. And you and I need to have a little chat."

"A chat? We're in an alley, and it's the middle of the night. What are you on about?"

"My sister."

"Your sister?" Vaughan laughed again. "Rhianna? Why would you want to talk to me about your sister?"

Fergus strode closer to Vaughan, but didn't say anything.

"Oh." Vaughan took a single step backward. "You must mean the little misunderstanding she and I had out in the garden." Vaughan took another step. "She told you about that, I suppose."

"Yes, she told me about it."

"I can't imagine what she might have said for you to have bothered coming all this way to find me, but whatever she told you, it's not what you think."

"Isn't it?"

"Well, since I don't know what she told you, I suppose it's difficult for me to say. But . . . um . . . look. She's a pretty girl, and she agreed to meet me. I thought she and I might have a bit of fun together." He took a deep breath, running his hand through his hair, before continuing. "I might have gotten a bit . . . enthusiastic, but as soon as she told me she wasn't interested, I stopped. I swear it."

"That's not the way Rhianna tells it." Fergus's voice was calm, but his hands clenched into fists at his side.

"Rhianna told you something different?" Vaughan laughed nervously. "Look, I know I might have upset her a bit. Like I said, I was enthusiastic. It's just that I thought . . . well . . . I was expecting . . ."

"Expecting what?" Fergus barked.

"Well, I thought she'd be game." He sounded surprised he needed to explain. "You know what people say about her." He paused. "Well, you're her brother, so maybe you don't know. But she was certainly amenable at the start. Why else would she have gone all the way to the far end of the garden? She must have intended for she and I to spend some time together. And I thought she was . . . experienced. If you know what I mean."

Fergus rushed at Vaughan, grabbing him by the collar. "Experienced? Who told you my fifteen-year-old sister was 'experienced?'"

Vaughan struggled briefly to get away from Fergus' grasp, but soon gave up and answered, "Are you joking? Everyone says it! Look, I know now it's not true. It sounds as though someone has been telling lies about your sister - quite an extensive campaign of lies, frankly - but how was I to know? I thought . . . well, it doesn't matter now, does it? Look, I'm sorry for what happened, I'm sorry if she was scared. But I didn't hurt her. I swear it."

"Only because she stopped you before you had the chance." Fergus still had Vaughan by the collar.

"She stopped me?" Vaughan's arrogance overtook his common sense. "That slip of a girl? Do you really think she could have gotten away from me if I hadn't let her go? I'm telling you, whatever she said, it's not true. She met me out in the garden and let me kiss her, and when I suggested we go a bit farther, she said we could do whatever I wanted. But then she got upset and changed her mind. So, I stopped and left the palace and I don't know what happened to her after that, but if she told you anything else, she's lying."

"You miserable bastard," Fergus snarled. "You tried to rape my sister, and now you have the gall to accuse her of lying about it?" Fergus swung his free arm back, and landed a punch solidly in the center of Vaughan's face. The arl's son stumbled as blood spurted from his broken nose. Fergus, still holding him by the collar, pulled Vaughan back to his feet, and punched him again, this time in the mouth.

Vaughan fought his way free of Fergus' grip, lurching backwards. "How dare you," he hissed, pulling a dagger out of a sheath at his waist. He brandished it once, then lunged.

Before Fergus could react, Dane erupted from the shadows. The hound leapt at Vaughan, clenching his jaws around the man's forearm. Shaking his head, Dane's teeth tore into Vaughan's flesh. The man screamed in pain, and dropped the dagger.

"Dane." Just one word from Fergus, and the hound released Vaughan's arm, moving to crouch beside his mistress' brother, growling.

"Get the hell away from me, both of you," Vaughan snarled, circling around to go back up the alley the way he had come, not even bothering to retrieve his dagger. With his good hand, he clutched at the place where Dane had bitten him in the arm. "I don't know what that little bitch of a sister of yours said, but I didn't do anything to her she didn't want me to do."

"And just what _did_ you do to her, Vaughan," Loghain said smoothly, as he stepped out of the shadows. Loghain still wasn't entirely convinced Vaughan hadn't succeeded in raping Rhianna. And he intended to find out, one way or another.

Vaughan's head snapped in the direction of this new voice, and his eyes grew wide and frantic. Glancing back and forth between Loghain and Fergus, Vaughan's face blanched at the sight of a second attacker. Dane had continued to growl, his teeth bared menacingly.

"Maker's balls," Vaughan swore. "What in the name of the Black City are you doing here? And I didn't _do_ anything to her. I swear it!"

He stepped backwards, only stopping when his back was nearly up against a wall. Loghain and Fergus moved closer, blocking off any chance the man had of escape.

"Look," Vaughan said, sounding desperate, shifting his gaze from Loghain to Fergus, and then back to Loghain again. "We sat on the bench, and she let me kiss her and touch her, pretty as you please, but as soon as I suggested going further, she balked, the little tease. So I stopped."

"You're lying." Rhianna would never have agreed to meet Vaughan in the garden, nor would she have let that man touch her in any way.

"Just what do you care anyway, Mac Tir?" Vaughan continued. "You're not her father." Then the man's expression shifted, and a knowing smirk slid across his face. "Or maybe you've got plans of your own for the girl? Is that it? Or perhaps you've already claimed her? She managed to convince me she's still a maiden, but perhaps she's just a good little actress. Perhaps you and Maric took turns with her, just like the gossips claim?"

Loghain charged, a cross between a growl and a war cry erupting from his throat. He shoved Vaughan hard into the brick wall at his back.

"How _dare_ you!" he snarled in Vaughan's face. "Don't you _dare_ talk about her like that! Rhianna is a child, an innocent child. I know she didn't let you kiss her, and she certainly wouldn't have let you do anything else." With his hands on Vaughan's chest, he pinned the other man to the wall. "Is this how you held her against the tree?"

Vaughan, struggling to catch his breath, didn't answer.

"IS IT?" Loghain shouted, bringing his knee up hard into the other man's groin.

Vaughan screamed, doubling over in pain until Loghain pulled him upright, slamming him against the bricks again.

"What else did you do to her?" he growled.

"Nothing!" the man yelped. "I swear to you, I didn't do anything to her." Vaughan's voice was high-pitched with fear, and he was shaking, and bleeding from his nose and his mouth. Fergus must have knocked loose a few of the man's teeth. He was clearly frightened, and in pain. Even so, Loghain feared Vaughan might still be lying.

"Tell me the truth, damn you!" Loghain bellowed, pulling Vaughan close, and then slamming him to the wall again.

"All right, all right," he said quickly, as though he realized this might be the only way he would get out of this alive. "I might have gone farther than she wanted to go. Yes, I pushed her against a tree. And I might have been a bit rough when I grabbed her. But I didn't _have_ her. I swear it. I just . . . I just touched her through her clothes. That's as far as it went, I swear it!"

_Touched her through her clothes_. Loghain's vision went cloudy, and a new wave a rage welled up inside of him. He wanted to kill Vaughan Kendalls. He wanted to kick in his face, he wanted to cut out his despicable, lying tongue. It took all Loghain's willpower not to pull the dagger from his boot and stab Vaughan in the gut, just for the satisfaction of feeling the man's blood run out over his hand.

Instead, he hurled him to the ground.

"Touched her? With which hand? Was it this one?" He brought his boot down hard on Vaughan's right hand, grinding it against the cobblestones. Vaughan screamed as his fingers were crushed, bones breaking with a sickening sound.

Not trusting himself to keep from kicking in Vaughan's face, Loghain moved a few steps away, as the younger man writhed on the ground in pain.

"This is for my sister!" Fergus moved in, kicking the prone man in the small of his back. Vaughan grunted. "And this is for the prostitute you tried to murder," Fergus shouted, kicking Vaughan again, even harder.

Vaughan panted, moaning in agony, and for nearly a minute, the two men and the hound just stood over him in silence.

Finally, Loghain knelt near Vaughan's head. "I need you to listen carefully," he murmured. "You will never go near Rhianna Cousland again. Do you understand? Because if you do, you'll be praying for death before I'm finished with you. And if I ever hear a word about her from your lips, or hear from anyone else you've as much as spoken her name, you will regret it."

Vaughan didn't respond; he merely lay on the ground, his shoulders heaving.

"Do you understand?" Loghain bellowed, rising to his feet, and landing a solid kick into the man's abdomen, breaking ribs.

"Yes," Vaughan, coughing as though he was trying not to throw up. "I understand," he gasped.

Loghain knelt beside him again. "Good. And the same holds true if you ever speak to anyone about this little talk we've just had. I suggest you say you had a run-in with bandits."

As Loghain got to his feet again, Dane walked up beside Vaughan. The dog lifted his leg, and sent a steady stream of hot urine onto the man's chest. Vaughan barely reacted to this final indignity, merely curling himself up as much as his injuries would allow, as if wishing to protect himself from further attacks.

Satisfied, Loghain nodded at Fergus, and together they turned and walked away, with Dane at their heels.

Loghain led them back in the direction of the palace. "There is one more thing we need to do," he told Fergus. "Rhianna's dagger is in the bottom of the pond. I'd like to fish it out for her tonight, rather than making her return tomorrow to the place where she was attacked."

When they reached the duck pond, Dane went straight into the water, happy to search for the dagger. It was only a few minutes before he emerged, dripping wet, Rhianna's dagger glowing faintly red in the hound's strong jaws. Loghain dried it off, and stuck it in his boot.

He inhaled, deeply, moving to sit on the bench where the whole thing had started. It was done; they'd finished what they set out to do. Loghain ran a hand across his face, then looked over at Fergus. The lad's expression was difficult to read. Perhaps a result of conflicting feelings; Fergus had almost certainly never experienced this sort of violence before.

"Are you all right with this?" Loghain asked. "With what we did tonight?"

Fergus sat down on the bench, frowning, an expression that looked pensive rather than angry. "Yes. Vaughan deserved it. Even Oriana agreed he deserved no mercy. More than that, I need to know Rhianna will be safe from him in the future. I do wonder if perhaps we should have just killed him. I almost wish we had. That way I would know for certain Rhianna will be safe from him."

"I considered it," Loghain replied. "But killing him would have required an investigation by the city guard. And all of us were seen in Blytheswood Lane, by people who might recognize us were the guards to inquire. And that would lead to questions regarding Rhianna that are better left unasked. This way, it will all blow over quickly. There will be talk tomorrow about Vaughan being beaten. By bandits, he'll say, if he has any sense at all. And the guard will roust the first band of thieves they find in the city, call it a good day's work, and that will be the end of it, as far as everyone else is concerned."

"I suppose you're right." Fergus shook his head. "I still find it hard to believe he would try to hurt her. Not that I don't think Vaughan capable of it. That part isn't a surprise. He . . . well, a few things happened while you were away. But I am surprised he'd think he could get away with something like this. With attacking the daughter of a teyrn in the palace garden."

Loghain shrugged. "Well, a fair few marriages have started out that way. Clearly Vaughan knows neither Rhianna nor your father very well, if he thought there was half a chance Bryce would believe Rhianna had lain with Vaughan willingly. No matter what the gossips in Denerim say about her, your parents would never believe it."

"Exactly." Fergus's eyes narrowed. "Which reminds me . . . I am curious as to these nasty rumors about my sister. Who on earth would make up such stories? She's a sweet girl. Look . . . I know I'm her brother, and biased because of it, but I can't understand why anyone would want to lie about her like this."

"I can guess both who and why. I assume Habren Bryland and Thomas Howe are behind the rumors. Habren in particular has been doing nasty things to Rhianna for years, mostly because Habren is jealous."

"Nasty things? What sort of nasty things?"

Loghain hesitated. Apparently Rhianna had never spoken with Fergus about any of this, so perhaps she didn't want him to know. But if the rumors had reached such a level that Vaughan Kendalls assumed Rhianna was so promiscuous no one would believe he raped her, this had gone far beyond harmless gossip. At least one member of her family needed to be aware of the full extent of the history here. At least as much as Loghain had been able to piece together.

"Habren has been . . . cruel to Rhianna on a number of occasions," Loghain explained. "Writing dirty poems about her, trying to embarrass her in front of other people, saying things designed to tear down Rhianna's confidence. And of course, there's the bees she put in Anora's flowers at the wedding. Circulating stories like this about Rhianna . . . well, it seems quite in character with things the Bryland girl has done before."

"I knew about the bees, but I assumed they were meant for the queen. As for the rest of it, I had no idea. Dirty poems? What in the world?" Fergus sounded genuinely surprised. "That little wretch! But why didn't I know about any of this? It sounds as though it's been going on for years."

"It has been going on for years. But you're Rhianna's brother. You're one of the last people to whom anyone would repeat this sort of gossip. And I suspect it's talk that is mostly passed around amongst the younger generation. I've never heard any of it first hand, either."

"If you've not heard it first hand, then how _do_ you know?"

"From Rhianna. She's told me about various things that happened over the years." Fergus' brow wrinkled, as though his feelings were on the verge of being hurt. Loghain continued, "I expect she told me because I'm not part of the family. She's embarrassed, and probably didn't want you to know how much Habren gets under her skin. And these new rumors, the ones Vaughan quoted, I'm sure she never heard any of that herself before this evening."

"Oh. Of course. I suppose that makes sense. Maker's breath," Fergus swore. "I had no idea Rhianna had been suffering such attacks all this time. And now this?" He closed his eyes, rubbing at his temples briefly. "I'm not sure what to do next. How to get people to stop believing these things about my sister."

"I'm not sure there's much to be done about it. Short of confronting Habren and Thomas, who will certainly deny it. And even then, people will believe what they want. That's the trouble with gossip. It's like a weed in the garden. Once it spreads and takes root, it's almost impossible to eradicate completely."

"It makes me want to . . ." Fergus didn't finish that thought. "To answer your earlier question, yes. I am more than all right with what we did to Vaughan. Still, I can't deny that part of me wishes I could have run that miserable bastard through with my blade."

An understandable urge. Loghain studied Fergus' face. There were small spatters of blood on the front of his shirt, and a few drops on his cheek.

"Have you ever taken a life?" Loghain asked.

"No. I've never wanted to before tonight." Fergus looked exhausted. "He will leave her alone after this, won't he?"

"Yes. After tonight, Vaughan Kendalls will stay far away from your sister. He's brash and he's a bully, but he's not _that_ stupid. He might have been able to get away with killing a household maid and assaulting a whore, and he apparently thought your sister had sullied herself so much no one would believe he raped her. But he knows the things said tonight were not empty threats. Because I will kill him if he harms her again in any way."

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_Thank you so much to my fantastic beta, Psyche Sinclair, and to all my wonderful reviewers: __Shadowfang, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Milly-finalfantasy, DjinniGenie, GLCW2, Denfree, KrystylSky, KatDancer2 and guests._

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_**Trigger Warning**: This chapter describes the aftermath of an attempted rape, brief mention of a rape that took place in the past, and a somewhat graphic description of the revenge violence enacted on the rapist._


	44. Have you heard the news?

_**27 Firstfall, 9:27 Dragon  
Highever Estate, Denerim**_

•o•

The entire Cousland family was gathered in the sitting room of the Highever estate, relaxing after breakfast. Eleanor and Oriana worked at their embroidery, while Bryce read a book and Fergus sat beside the window, looking out into the garden. Rhianna had an eye on Oren as the boy wrestled with Dane, an activity that consisted mostly of Oren trying to climb on Dane's back until Dane shook him off, sending the boy sprawling onto the floor in laughter. Dane was, as usual, being a very good sport about it so long as Oren didn't pull his ears too hard. Rhianna watched, prepared to intervene if things got out of hand, but fairly certain that wasn't going to happen.

If she was paying rather closer attention than was strictly necessary, it was only because she needed to occupy her mind, and drive away the unpleasant thoughts threatening to overrun it.

When Rhianna awoke that morning, Dane was curled up on the floor next to her bed, and her dagger lay on the middle of her desk. Loghain must have gone to the garden to get it for her, but that didn't explain how it ended up in her bedroom. Not that she cared how it ended up in the bedroom; she was just glad to have it back. It was strapped to her leg now, underneath her gown. Next time she felt uncomfortable about something - or about some_one - _she would grab it right away, rather than waiting to see what would happen.

_If_ she found herself in such a situation again, which she sincerely hoped would never, ever happen.

Her arms were still sore where Vaughan had grabbed her, as was her shoulder. But far worse were the memories. His breath on her face. The cold wind on her legs. The things he had said: "_everyone knows what a little slut you are._" The way he pushed her up against the tree.

Thinking about it made her feel sick to her stomach.

Thank the Maker she had gotten away, and found Loghain in the garden. In that moment, as soon as she'd heard his voice, she'd felt safe. But now? Now she wasn't so sure. Vaughan had been angry with her for telling him no, and then she'd kicked him, which surely made him even angrier. What if he'd decided he didn't want to marry her now, but wanted to kill her instead?

And he knew where she lived.

She shivered, as if caught in a draft.

Surely, he wouldn't be able to sneak into the house without anyone noticing. At least not during the daytime. And during the day, she could stay near other people. Her father. Her brother. Her mother. They wouldn't let Vaughan hurt her again.

But what if he snuck in during the middle of the night? Right into her bedroom? She had Dane to warn her of trouble, and he would fight to protect her if necessary, but what if Vaughan took them both by surprise?

And even during the daytime, he might be hiding somewhere nearby. She certainly couldn't go anywhere outside, not by herself. Not even in the garden. There were plenty of places a man could hide in the garden, waiting for the chance to jump out at her, and . . .

"Rhianna?" Her mother's voice was laced with concern. "Is everything all right, darling? You look a bit pale. Are you sure you're not feeling ill this morning?"

"I'm fine, Mother," she said, forcing a smile. Darn it. She needed to stop moping, or her mother would put her back to bed and call for the healer, who might then see the bruises on her arms. And that would require an explanation Rhianna wasn't ready to give. She wanted to tell her parents, just not yet. She'd do it later, when her stomach didn't feel so awful.

"I'm fine, I promise," Rhianna repeated. "I'm just a bit tired, and still feeling sad about the king."

Before her mother could respond, Hobbes appeared at the door. "Begging your pardon, but there's a visitor."

Bryce looked up from his book. "Who is it?"

"Arl Bryland, ser."

Bryce smiled, and set down the book. "By all means, send him in."

A minute later, Leonas Bryland bustled into the room.

"Have you heard the news? What happened last night?" He glanced around at the expectant, smiling faces of the Cousland family. "No, clearly you haven't. You wouldn't be looking at me like that if you had."

"Heard what, Leonas?" Bryce asked, gesturing to a chair and indicating that the arl should make himself comfortable.

Leonas shook his head, apparently too excited to sit. "What happened to Vaughan Kendalls."

Vaughan Kendalls? The smile slid from Rhianna's face. She glanced at Fergus; he looked back at her with an expression of dismay she knew must be mirrored on her own face.

Maker's breath. Did someone know what Vaughan had tried to do to her? Maybe someone else had been in the palace garden and saw? Or maybe he'd complained because she had kicked him so hard. Oh, what if he complained to the king, or the captain of the city guard? Had she kicked him hard enough he'd needed to see a healer?

"Something happened to Vaughan?" Eleanor asked. "What, last night after the wake? I'm sure I saw him there, early in the evening."

"Yes." Leonas finally dropped into a chair. "Some time after the wake. He was out in the city - in a rather dodgy part of the city, to tell the truth - and was attacked and beaten. Pretty badly beaten, from what I hear tell."

Oh. Rhianna let out the breath she had been holding. This had nothing to do with her after all. They'd been in the palace garden, and she'd only kicked him once. She couldn't have hurt him all that badly.

"Maker's balls!" her father swore, language Rhianna had rarely heard from his lips. "Is he going to be all right?"

"He'll be fine." Leonas replied. "The royal healer was called in, after someone found him unconscious in the street. Apparently there was no permanent damage."

The healer? Definitely this had nothing to do with her. Vaughan's injuries must have been far more serious than anything Rhianna had done.

She glanced at Fergus again, and saw a look pass between him and Oriana. Neither of their faces held any surprise. No shock, or horror at the news of Vaughan being attacked.

As if they'd already known what happened to Vaughan. But the only way that was possible was if . . .

Blessed Andraste.

Her brother had done this. Her brother had gone after Vaughan last night. And probably Teyrn Loghain had gone with him; Loghain had promised to make certain Vaughan never bothered Rhianna again.

Dane came up and nuzzled her legs. She saw images in her hound's mind: Teyrn Loghain leaning against a tree in the palace garden. A woman with dark hair and a swollen eye reaching out and allowing Dane to lick her hand. Vaughan backed up against a brick wall, blood streaming from his nose. And Vaughan again, this time laying still on the cobbled stones of a dark street.

Her stomach lurched. The three of them - Fergus, Loghain and Dane - had gone after Vaughan, and beaten him for what he had done to her in the garden.

"Did he say who did this?" Oriana's voice was calm, but Rhianna thought she detected just the slightest hint of panic.

"That's the funny thing," Leonas replied, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back in the chair. "He claims - get this - that it was the Antivan Crows. That somehow Vaughan managed to foil an assassination attempt. By the Crows." Leonas chuckled.

"Leonas," Eleanor's voice was disapproving. "The boy was attacked and beaten. I hardly think this is a laughing matter."

"Oh, come on Eleanor," Leonas argued. "Vaughan was left in the dirt in some dodgy back alley, and he expects us to believe he managed to escape being murdered by the Crows? If the Crows wanted him dead, he would be dead. End of discussion. Besides, I can't think of a single reason the Crows would want anything to do with Vaughan Kendalls. He's hardly an important person in Denerim, his own opinion notwithstanding. And if he's well enough to make up some ridiculous story about assassins, well, perhaps a bit of laughter isn't inappropriate."

"Leonas." Just one word, but it was clear Eleanor was not convinced by his argument.

Leonas lifted a brow, but he did make an effort to stop smiling. "Ah. Eleanor. I suppose you're right. It's just . . . well the whole story sounds fishy to me."

"If it wasn't the Crows," Bryce asked, "who was it?"

"Bandits, no doubt. Common thieves after his money, and Vaughan's just embarrassed to admit they got the better of him. He was probably drunk and couldn't fight them off. Well, judging by his injuries, he must have been so drunk he hardly tried to fight them off." Leonas ticked off on his fingers: "Broken nose, broken jaw, several teeth knocked out, broken ribs, bruises everywhere, bite marks on his arm, and one of his hands was smashed - every single finger broken. And, apparently, he smelled like a privy; must have pissed himself. Of course, all his money had been stolen, along with a dagger he claims had been in his family for centuries."

All his fingers broken? Teeth knocked out? And no doubt, Dane was responsible for the bite marks.

Rhianna gasped, feeling shaky and light-headed.

"Rhianna?" Her mother was staring at her. "Are you all right?"

She couldn't catch her breath long enough to answer.

"I'm afraid that's enough of this discussion for the moment," Eleanor said firmly. "Rhianna, let's you and I take a walk out in the garden. In the sunshine? Would you like that?"

Rhianna glanced around; everyone was staring at her now, with varying levels of concern.

"Yes, please," she managed. "But perhaps Fergus could come with me instead?" She caught his eye, begging silently for him to agree. She needed to talk to him about this.

Right now.

"There's an arbor near the back wall that's broken," she lied, feeling the need to justify this, somehow, or risk everyone else getting suspicious. "I was hoping you might help me mend it."

"Of course, Elsie." Fergus pushed himself up to his feet. "Let's go have a look." He stopped just long enough to glance back at Oriana before taking Rhianna's arm, and shepherding her out into the garden, Dane close behind.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Fergus led the way into the garden, forcing himself to stay calm, to take deep, slow breaths. Leonas' "news" had come as a shock, even though it probably shouldn't have. Of course, people were bound to find out something happened to Vaughan. He hadn't even been able to make it home without assistance.

Even so, that what the three of them had done the night before might become public hadn't occurred to him, not until Leonas said the man's name.

And when Leonas described Vaughan's injuries . . . Maker's blood, had Fergus and Loghain really done all that? Well, yes, of course they had. And it had felt good. Satisfying. Exhilarating, even. But seeing Rhianna's reaction, watching all the color drain from her face, brought things into a somewhat different perspective.

When they were away from the house, far enough no one inside might overhear, Rhianna stopped walking.

"It was you, wasn't it? And Teyrn Loghain and Dane."

"Yes," Fergus admitted.

"Did you really do everything Uncle Leonas said? Breaking Vaughan's nose and his hand and . . ." her voice trailed off.

"Yes. I needed to make sure Vaughan knew better than to come anywhere near you, ever again. And Loghain felt the same."

"Maker's blood." She rubbed a hand across her face, and started walking again.

They continued through the garden in silence until they came to the arbor by the back wall. Rhianna looked at it for a moment, then planted her foot on one of the wooden supports and pushed until the wood broke with a loud "crack."

"There," she said. "Now we can honestly say we came out to look at the broken arbor."

Her voice shook. This must be so difficult for her, all of it. Fergus wanted to reach out, grasp her shoulder, touch her in some comforting way, but he remembered how she'd flinched yesterday from the bruises on her arms. He left his hands at his sides.

"What if Vaughan tells someone what you did?" she asked. "What if you get in trouble for it?"

"Vaughan isn't going to tell anyone what we did last night, because then he would have to admit to attacking you. You don't have to worry about him anymore, Elsie. Not ever. Vaughan isn't going to hurt you, or any of us. We made it very clear that if he causes any trouble, he'll end up dead next time."

Her eyes grew wide, then she blinked, slowly, as if it were taking some time for the meaning to sink in. "Dead? You . . . you threatened to kill him, if he came after me again?"

"Yes. Well, Loghain is the one who said it, but I feel the same."

"Oh."

"Elsie . . . you don't mind, do you? What we did? I hope this doesn't make things harder for you, in some way. You know I would never purposely do anything to upset you."

She turned away, resting her back against the arbor, and looking up into the sky. No doubt, she needed time to think through all of this. It must have come as something of a surprise.

To be honest, it had surprised Fergus at the time. Even though they'd gone after Vaughan intending to scare him away from Rhianna, Fergus hadn't expected it to be so violent. On his own, Fergus might not have attacked Vaughan, physically. Just threatened him. But when Fergus had taken hold of Vaughan's collar, after the man accused Rhianna of lying, the knowledge that Loghain was at his back gave Fergus the courage to throw that first punch. From there, it had been easy - disturbingly easy - to continue.

And Loghain. Loghain hadn't seemed to hold back at all. He went after Vaughan without a second thought, with a level of vehemence and rage that Fergus found frightening, even directed at the man who had just hurt his beloved sister.

Of course, Loghain had something of a dark reputation, well known for being Maric's "enforcer" during and after the Rebellion. Even when he wasn't angry, the man was intimidating.

Except when he was with Rhianna. There was something different about Loghain when he and Rhianna were together. Loghain seemed more relaxed, less gruff. He smiled, laughed even. And there was no denying he was gentle with her, careful with her feelings, even when they teased one another, which they often did.

They were . . . friends, as unlikely as that might seem. Rhianna adored the teyrn, had done for years. And clearly, Loghain's regard for Rhianna was genuine; he had threatened to kill a man for her sake.

It could hardly be a bad thing to have one of the most powerful men in Ferelden looking out for Rhianna's well-being. Especially someone who wasn't afraid of taking action when it was required.

Last night, after Fergus had returned home and told his wife what had happened, Oriana suggested Loghain and Rhianna might be well-suited in marriage. On the surface, it seemed a ridiculous suggestion. Rhianna was so very young, and Loghain nearly the same age as their father. And to Fergus' knowledge, Loghain had never brought up the subject with Bryce and Eleanor. Of course, that didn't mean the man had no interest in Rhianna.

What was it Vaughan had said? _"Maybe you've got plans of your own for the girl? Perhaps you've already claimed her?"_

No. That was . . . unfathomable.

Except the two did spend a lot of time together, often in private.

Rhianna's voice interrupted his reverie.

"I don't mind what you did to him, Fergus. I'm . . . I'm glad you did it. It helps me feel . . . less frightened."

Fergus gave her what he hoped was a confident smile. "Good. And you really don't have to be frightened anymore, Elsie. As Loghain said to me last night, Vaughan is a bully, but he's not stupid. We made it clear he would pay dearly if he ever harms you again."

"All right." She stepped close, and put her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Fussy. It does mean a lot to me that you did this." She kissed him on the cheek, and he hugged her tightly for a moment before allowing her to pull away.

Finally, he knelt and looked at the arbor.

"Well, you were right," he chuckled. "This certainly is in need of repair. I don't know if it would be better to replace the wood, or if perhaps we can just wire it back into place."

"Oh, I suspect wire will do the trick," she replied. "It wasn't broken all the way through." She gave him a crooked smile, and he was struck by how grown up she was. When had that happened? This transformation from a child into a young woman? At any rate, she was lovely.

No doubt, Fergus wasn't the only one to have noticed.

_"Perhaps you've already claimed her. Perhaps you and Maric took turns with her, just like the gossips claim."_

"Rhianna." Her name came off his lips in a deeper pitch than he'd intended, sounding ominous, almost.

"What?" She frowned. "Fergus, is something wrong?"

He took a deep breath. Perhaps he shouldn't say anything, shouldn't ask the question that had come into his mind. Perhaps it would be better to let it drop . . .

But now the question had come to him, he needed to know the answer.

"There's something . . . um . . . there's . . . oh, Andraste's arse." He exhaled forcefully. "There's something I want to ask you, but I don't know how to say it. I don't want you to get upset, or be offended or angry." He paused. "But I need to know."

"Fergus, what is it?"

"Vaughan said some things last night. And now, I can't help but wonder . . . "

"Can't help but wonder? Can't help but wonder what?" She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "If the things Vaughan said are true? Are you asking if I really have lain with half the men in Ferelden?"

"No," he shook his head. "No, of course not. Maker's breath, Rhianna. Of course I would never believe anything like that of you."

"Then what?"

"It's just . . . well, Loghain."

"Loghain? What about Loghain?"

"I know the two of you have been close for a long time. For years. And you wrote to one another while he was at sea. And . . . well, the fact he was willing to . . . do what he did last night. To Vaughan. I'm not sure I would have expected that from someone outside the family. And I just wondered if . . ." He took a deep breath. "Damn it, there's no way to say this other than to just come out and say it. Has Loghain ever done anything . . . inappropriate? Kissed you, or touched you in a way he shouldn't have?"

Rhianna took a step backwards. "What are you suggesting, Fergus? Do you really think I've . . . done things? With Teyrn Loghain? Or that he's done things to me? Do you think I've lain with him?"

Tears sprang to her eyes, and her bottom lip quivered, and he wished he hadn't said anything. Except . . . she hadn't actually denied it. What if there was some truth to the rumor, after all?

"Have you?"

"No! Of course not. Loghain has never been anything but good to me. Never anything but kind. And he's certainly never done anything - _anything_ - he shouldn't have done. He's kissed me on the forehead when I was upset, and held me when I've cried. Never anything more. Not ever! How could you even think such a thing?"

"All right." Fergus crossed the distance and took Rhianna's hands in his own. "I'm sorry, Elsie. Truly. I just thought perhaps he'd . . . no, I'm sorry. I should have known better than to listen to anything that came out of Vaughan's mouth."

"Did Vaughan accuse me of laying with Loghain? To Loghain's face?"

"Yes. Well, he suggested you'd been with Loghain and King Maric, both."

"I shouldn't be surprised." She sounded a bit defeated. "Vaughan said as much to me, as well."

"Did he? That bastard."

"Yes."

"Well, it made Loghain furious. He hadn't actually struck Vaughan, not until after he said that about you. And then . . . well, Loghain wasn't gentle, by any stretch of the imagination. And I thought . . ."

"What? That Loghain wouldn't have gotten angry if it wasn't true?"

Damn. Put like that, it did sound ridiculous. "Yes, I suppose that is what I thought. That maybe there was at least some truth to it. You and Loghain spend a lot of time together. But like I said, I should have known Vaughan was lying."

"Yes, you should have." She sighed. "Except it wasn't Vaughan who made up that story. I don't know who did, probably Habren Bryland, with some help from Thomas Howe. But according to Vaughan, half of Denerim believes it's true. Apparently, I've also lain with Bann Teagan. And done things with the Howe boys. And who knows how many others. I've been trying not to think about it, to tell you the truth. I don't know how I'm going to show my face in public again, knowing that's what everyone thinks." She blinked, and her eyes shone in the sunlight, as though she were just barely fighting back tears.

Fergus took her chin in his hand. "None of that matters, Elsie. The people who know you, who care about you, we know those are just nasty rumors and lies."

"Really? But if you knew that, why did you ask about Loghain?"

She looked up at him, her eyes large and green, and he hesitated a moment before answering.

"Because he came with me last night, and did a great deal of physical violence to a man who hurt you. He didn't hesitate. As soon as he learned what Vaughan had done, Loghain went after him. I thought maybe . . . maybe there was something more between the two of you. You are getting older, after all. Girls your age are married with babies sometimes, and if there was something like that between you and the teyrn, well, I wanted to know. Especially if he had ever hurt you, or done anything you didn't want him to do."

"He hasn't. I don't think he even thinks of me that way. And I know what other people say about him. That he's violent and quarrelsome and unpleasant. But he isn't any of those things. He's kind and gentle, one of the best people I've ever known. He would never do anything hurt me. You have to believe that."

Her expression was so earnest, so . . . heartbroken, almost, Fergus knew she was telling the truth.

"I do believe it. And I'm sorry for suggesting otherwise." Fergus stepped close and pulled Rhianna into a hug. "I'm just glad you are all right, little sister. I can't bear the thought of anyone hurting you. Not ever. And if Vaughan Kendalls so much as looks at you funny, let me know and I'll make sure it never happens again."

•o•o•o•o•o•

Rhianna and Fergus took their time walking back to the house, not talking much, but also in no hurry to go back where the rest of the family was gathered. Rhianna needed those extra minutes to make sure she was calm enough to pretend to her parents everything was all right.

As overwhelming as last night had been, some of today's revelations were equally jarring. Fergus and Loghain, beating Vaughan so badly he'd needed the healer? And just now, Fergus' question about Loghain.

There were too many thoughts in her head, and she didn't know what to do with them all.

Loghain and Fergus had gone after Vaughan last night. They had hunted down a man who tried to hurt her, and beat him so badly he would be afraid to come near her ever again. And then they threatened to kill him. All for her sake.

There was an uncomfortable, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she wasn't sure what the feeling was behind it. Was it horrible they had done this? Or wonderful? Or perhaps both in equal measure?

Without a doubt, she felt safer because of it. Less afraid Vaughan would jump out at her from behind a hedge, although she still could imagine him sneaking in through her bedroom window in the middle of the night. But knowing they had warned him (well, "warned" was putting it mildly, wasn't it?) was something of a relief.

At the same time, knowing what they'd done made her want to cry. Perhaps just the fact they thought it necessary. That there was someone in this world as horrible as Vaughan, and people she loved felt compelled to do violence against him on her behalf. That Fergus or Loghain might have been hurt, even killed, in whatever fight had taken place. Even that Vaughan had ended up lying bleeding in the dirt of an alleyway. As much as she hated him right now, that image gave her no pleasure.

And there was the woman she'd seen in Dane's mind. A woman with a swollen eye and bloody lip. Somehow she fit into all of this in a way Rhianna didn't yet understand.

On the whole, though, she felt grateful. Grateful that Fergus and Loghain cared so much about her they would risk their own safety to ensure hers in the future. She had always known her brother loved her, so it was no surprise he would have done this, and she was grateful for his promise: that if Vaughan ever bothered her again, Fergus would take care of it.

But she knew if she had trouble with Vaughan in the future, it wouldn't be her brother to whom she turned.

She would go to Loghain.

Of course, she had known before now that he cared about her. She had always known that. But this was different. This went beyond mere friendship. What had Fergus said? "_He did a great deal of physical violence to a man who hurt you._"

It was horrifying to know Loghain was willing to kill someone for her sake. But at the same time, it made her feel very, very safe. And if Vaughan, or anyone else, gave her trouble ever again, Loghain was the one Rhianna trusted to keep her safe.

•o•o•o•o•o•

When Loghain Mac Tir arrived at the Highever Estate after lunch, he brought the gifts Rhianna had left at the Gwaren estate the previous afternoon. This, he assumed, would provide a reasonable excuse for his visit; he didn't want the rest of the family to realize he'd really come just to assure himself Rhianna was all right.

Of course, the first order of business was to discuss what had happened to Vaughan Kendalls. Bryce asked if Loghain had additional information, beyond what Leonas Bryland had told them earlier. Loghain lied, professing to know nothing more than what Leonas had shared.

Rhianna smiled brightly as she showed the map and the gown to her parents. Her expression looked a bit forced, perhaps, but on the whole she seemed calm and quite herself, considering what she had been through the previous evening.

After the gifts had been discussed, and the conversation shifted to another topic - something about bandit attacks on the Pilgrim's Path - Loghain caught her eye. She held his gaze steadily, unsmiling.

Ah. It appeared she knew at least something of the mission he had undertaken with Fergus the night before.

"Teyrn Loghain? Would you like to walk with me in the garden?"

"Of course," he agreed, and the family took her request in stride: Bryce went back to his book, and Eleanor gave Loghain a thoughtful, but not disapproving look as he followed Rhianna outside.

They sat on a bench near one of the large flowerbeds whose soil sat fallow, with nothing in bloom as winter approached.

Rhianna studied his face for a moment before speaking.

"Thank you. For last night. For bringing me home safely, and . . . for what you did with Fergus and Dane."

"Fergus told you?"

"He didn't have to. When Uncle Leonas arrived this morning and told us what happened to Vaughan, it was easy enough to guess."

"You're not . . . angry? Are you?" he asked. Loghain couldn't read her expression, which was unusual. Normally, he could almost always tell what she was feeling, even without having to ask. "About what we did. I hope you don't feel I . . . overstepped a boundary. In any way." After all, she wasn't his daughter. Nor his betrothed.

"Overstepped?" She sounded genuinely surprised, as if this was something she had never before considered. "No, of course not. Vaughan did something bad to me, and you protected me. It's hardly the first time."

No, but it was the first time he'd done something that felt as much like revenge as it did "protection." Certainly, he would do anything to ensure Rhianna's safety. But he suspected he might not have been quite as violent with Kendalls if he hadn't been carrying so much frustration already - both for what had been done to Rhianna, as well as his grief abut Maric.

"And you don't mind that I dragged your brother into it?"

"Are you saying you convinced Fergus to do something he didn't want to do?" She raised a brow at him. "That's not the way he told it."

"No, that's not what I meant. Just that . . . well, I'm not sure Fergus would have taken it as far on his own. I was . . . overzealous, perhaps, in what I did to Vaughan."

"So I heard." She looked down at the gravel path in front of her feet before meeting his gaze again. "All the fingers on one hand broken? Was that you, or Fergus?"

"That was me."

She let out a long breath. "No, I'm not angry. Of course I'm not angry. How could I be? You did it for my sake, after all. To keep me safe. And I'm glad you were there with him. The thought of Fergus confronting Vaughan on his own scares me." She laughed, humorlessly. "Well, right now, just about everything scares me."

Her voice caught on the last sentence, and she squeezed her eyes shut and ran a hand across her face.

"Oh, Rhianna." Loghain took one of her hands in both of his. "You're safe now, love."

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Listen to me," he said, rubbing his thumb across the top of her hand. "You don't need to worry about Vaughan coming after you. It was made clear to him what would happen if he does."

"You'll kill him?"

"Yes. And he knows it's true. He won't bother you anymore, Rhianna. I'm certain of it."

She nodded, and then closed her eyes, briefly. "But what if he tells someone?" she whispered urgently. "About you and Fergus. I don't want either of you to get into trouble. What if he . . ." she shook her head before continuing. "What if he comes after one of you? Or hires someone, like the Crows?"

"He isn't going to do anything," Loghain assured her. "Vaughan Kendalls is a coward. What he wants right now is for this whole thing to blow over without him getting into any trouble. Without it being made public that he attacked the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever. He's already made up some story about the Antivan Crows. And he knows the price he will pay if he ever comes near you again. Vaughan is going to keep quiet, and pretend none of it ever happened."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm sure."

She chewed at her bottom lip. "All right."

Loghain glanced at the estate. "Did you tell your parents?"

"No. And now . . . I don't see how I can ever tell them. Vaughan was attacked and beaten just after trying to force himself on me? They'll figure it out as quickly as I did. And I can't take the chance of you or Fergus or Dane getting into trouble for what you did last night. Besides, I honestly don't know what Father's reaction would be. He might go after Vaughan himself, or be furious with you and Fergus. He might pack me off to Highever and never let me come to Denerim again. Although that actually sounds all right, just about now. I am looking forward to going home."

She was right. As much as Bryce and Eleanor should know what had happened, what Loghain and Fergus did last night had complicated things. At any rate, it should be Rhianna's decision when and if to tell them.

"I understand. And I won't say anything to them, unless you want me to."

"Thank you." She cocked her head to one side. "Who was the woman?"

The change of subject took him by surprise. "Woman? What woman?"

"The woman last night. I know about her from Dane. She was laying on the ground somewhere dark, and Dane licked her hand. Who was she?"

"Oh. Yes." Loghain wasn't sure how much detail he wanted to give. "We came across her while looking for Vaughan."

"She had a black eye, as though she'd been hit in the face. Did Vaughan have something to do with that, too? Is he the one who beat her?"

Damn. Should he tell her the truth? After the secret he kept from her during his ocean voyage, and how guilty it made him feel, he was loathe to lie to her about this. Loathe to lie to her about anything, really.

But what if she blamed herself for what had happened? She shouldn't have to carry around guilt about something that genuinely wasn't her fault.

She watched him expectantly, studying his expression with a slight frown on her face. She really was not a child any more.

And with that realization, the answer was clear: he didn't want to lie to her. Not ever again. It was one thing to neglect to mention something in a letter, but to tell an outright lie? Rhianna deserved better than that from him, especially now she was so very nearly grown.

"Yes. Vaughan beat her. She's a wh- . . . a common woman. After he left the palace, Vaughan went to Blytheswood Lane."

"You mean he paid her to have sex with him?"

"Yes."

"Why did he beat her?"

"Apparently, he wasn't able to . . . perform. Sexually. My guess is you kicked him so hard he couldn't maintain . . ." Maker's balls, he wasn't sure how to finish that sentence.

But Rhianna nodded, as though she understood. "So he hit her? But he wasn't really angry with her, was he? He was angry with me. Probably angrier than I can even imagine." She kicked at the gravel with the toe of one of her shoes. "He was angry with me, so he went out and found another girl. One who looked like me, a bit. Her hair, at least. And he tried to have sex with her, and when he couldn't, he hit her . . . all because he couldn't take it out on me."

Her mind was quick to make connections. Much too quick. If only she'd never come to know about any of this. Unfortunately, it was too late to worry about that now.

Before he could respond, Rhianna's lower lip began to quiver, and she put her face in her hands. Loghain reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off, turning away from him, her body trembling.

"Rhianna," he insisted, his voice low but firm. "You are not to blame for this."

She looked up at him, tears on her face. "How can you say that?" She put her hand over her mouth, muffling her sobs, before continuing. "A woman was beaten. Vaughan beat her, not because of anything she did, but because he was angry with me. What if he'd killed her? It would have been my fault. I should have let him do what he wanted. He wouldn't have hurt me, not really. He wanted to marry me. If I'd just gone along with him, nothing bad would have happened to her, or to anyone else." Rhianna sobbed again, and Loghain grasped her by the shoulders, firmly enough that she couldn't turn away.

"No!" The vehemence in his voice seemed to startle her, and she looked directly into his eyes. "This is not your fault, Rhianna. Do you hear me? This is not your fault." A tear escaped her eye, and rolled steadily down her cheek. "Vaughan Kendalls is responsible for this. Period. There is no way you could have foreseen what he was going to do. And this idea of yours, that you should have gone along with him, sacrificed yourself? No!" Loghain shook her once as if to punctuate his point. "You mustn't think like that. Not ever!

"You were right to protect yourself, and if you are ever in danger again, for any reason, I need to know you will do exactly what you did last night. That you will fight. Do whatever is necessary to protect yourself. Don't ever think that by sacrificing your own safety, you might bring safety to someone else. Promise me, Rhianna. Promise you won't blame yourself for this, and promise you will always do what you need to do to keep yourself safe."

She closed her eyes, breathing heavily for a moment before she looked back up at Loghain. "All right," she agreed, sounding weary. "I promise." He tugged at her, wanting to pull her close, and after a moment's hesitation, she came into his embrace, curling herself up against him. "Are you sure it's not my fault?" she whispered.

"It isn't, Rhianna. I swear it. Nothing that happened last night was your fault in any way. I swear it."

"I'm so scared," she whispered in a voice so small he could barely make out what she had said. "Scared he'll sneak into the house in the middle of the night, or hide somewhere, waiting for me. Scared he'll jump out at me when I'm not expecting it, and this time I won't be able to get away."

"Oh, love," he said, putting a hand on her hair. "That's not going to happen. Vaughan will leave you alone, I promise. And even if he were to come after you, you're strong. You're a warrior. You fought him off once, and you could do it again if necessary. Which it won't be, because Vaughan knows I will kill him if he goes near you ever again."

She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he held her, breathing in the scent of her hair, aware of the warmth where her body pressed against his. Feeling her tremble against him until, after a few minutes, she seemed calm and still, no longer caught up in her fear.

Finally, she pulled away from him.

"I really am grateful," she said at last. "For what you did last night." She looked up at him, and for a moment he had a glimpse of the woman she would be someday. Some day soon.

He reached his hand up and cradled her cheek. She closed her eyes and covered his hand with her own, pressing her face into his palm.

"Thank you, Loghain," she whispered. "For everything."

When she opened her eyes, her smile looked genuine for the first time that afternoon. He felt something inside him melt, just a bit. A cold place, a hard place, a place he had kept locked away for more years than he cared to count.

He didn't know when, and how, Rhianna had managed to get under his skin, but she had.

It wasn't entirely comfortable, feeling this way. And it almost certainly wasn't a good idea. But he had no idea how to make himself stop. When she had run out of the darkness yesterday, so obviously upset . . . he'd done what he needed to do, to ensure Vaughan Kendalls wouldn't be a problem for Rhianna in the future. And if she were ever in any danger again, he knew he would do the same. He would do anything to keep her safe. To make sure no one would ever hurt her.

"I think we're leaving for Highever early next week," she said quietly. "Perhaps you and I can go riding together before then? Maybe out to the beach? Try again for sea lions?" She smiled crookedly.

"I can't think of anything I would enjoy more."

•o•o•o•o•o•

Bryce looked up from his book and glanced out the window. He watched idly as Rhianna and Loghain sat together on a bench, appearing to be deep in conversation. It seemed the two of them could spend endless hours together and never become bored with one another. Just what did they have to talk about, anyway?

It wasn't the first time he'd wondered such a thing. He'd long been curious about the friendship between his daughter and the teyrn. They seemed to enjoy many of the same things: being out in the countryside, riding horse and such. And training with weapons, which was a reasonable pursuit. But that still didn't explain how two people as seemingly different as Rhianna and Loghain had become such close companions.

Right before Loghain left on his voyage, after they were nearly killed by Orlesian assassins, Bryce had considered putting a stop to this relationship entirely. Rhianna had nearly come to harm too many times while in Loghain's company. But over the two years Loghain was gone, Bryce's feelings on the matter had mellowed. Partly because he had assumed Rhianna was spending those two years going on happily with her life, with no influence at all from Loghain Mac Tir.

That, of course, hadn't been quite true. The revelation the two had corresponded the entire time had come as a surprise, but a harmless one. Writing letters back and forth could hardly have been inappropriate. And it was difficult to remain angry at a man for two entire years.

Now Loghain had returned to Ferelden, and within days, Rhianna's life seemed wrapped up with his again. Perhaps it wasn't a problem; Eleanor certainly believed Rhianna benefited from her friendship with the teyrn. Bryce wasn't so sure, but it was also difficult for him to deny his daughter anything that brought her happiness.

Watching them now, it appeared to Bryce this was no trifling conversation they were having. Not mere pleasantries or cheerful banter, but something of import. They were intent on one another, and Bryce was struck by just how grown up Rhianna looked. Not her face, which he couldn't see clearly, but her bearing. Her body language, the way she gestured, the way she held Loghain's gaze. He'd not seen her like this before, looking so . . . mature. More an adult than a child.

And watching her with Loghain, the way she leaned toward him when she spoke, made Bryce uncomfortable.

Rhianna adored her Father; Bryce never doubted that his daughter loved him. But she seemed to share something different with Loghain, and Bryce had to admit this bothered him. That she confided things to Loghain Bryce knew nothing about. That another man was closer to his daughter in some ways than he was.

That perhaps Loghain had some sexual interest in Rhianna.

And there it was, finally, the thing Bryce had hesitated to admit, even to himself: it bothered him to think Loghain Mac Tir might want to be intimate with Rhianna, perhaps even marry her.

Rhianna was no longer a child. At fifteen, she had grown into a lovely young woman, and sooner or later, Bryce would lose her to another man. But he was not ready to face that moment yet, and the thought of his daughter - his still so very young daughter - with Loghain Mac Tir made him feel angry and anxious and vaguely ill.

Not that there was anything inappropriate about the way they were sitting. And Loghain was certainly not some common lout to take advantage of an innocent young girl. If the man had any interest in Rhianna, no doubt he would go about it the usual way, and ask for her hand in marriage. Maric had once hinted this might be a good arrangement, but Loghain himself had never approached the Couslands about the subject.

So, perhaps it was as it appeared from the outside, and the two were nothing more than friends.

Bryce leaned forward, watching through narrowed eyes. They were no longer sitting and talking calmly. Rhianna put her face in her hands, and Loghain reached out to her, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it away, turning from him. Loghain said something, and Rhianna looked up at him. It was difficult to see her face, but it appeared as though she had been crying.

Maker's breath! What on earth could the two of them be discussing that would have brought the girl to tears? Maric's death?

Then Loghain grabbed her by the shoulders, and turned her toward him, forcefully, and shouted at her. Then he shook her, and shouted again. She responded, seeming to strain away from him for a moment, until he pulled her against him, holding her in his arms. She didn't fight him, curling up against him and allowing him to stroke her hair, as he appeared to be comforting her.

Bryce's stomach felt hollow.

"Bryce? What are you doing?" Eleanor asked, "Are you spying on Loghain and Rhianna?" Her tone was light, but the words stung nonetheless.

"Spying? Of course not. I'm just . . . watching. Rhianna appears to be upset about something. I think she was crying a moment ago."

"Oh." Eleanor peered out the window. "Well that explains why Loghain appears to be comforting her. No doubt she's still upset about Maric. This has been hard for her, and for Loghain as well. Maric was his best friend for so many years. It's a blessing for Rhianna and Loghain both that they have one another to talk to right now. And Rhianna seemed upset about what happened to the Kendalls boy, as well."

"I suppose so," Bryce admitted.

But the frown did not leave his face for quite some time, even after he'd forced himself to return to his book, worried Eleanor would scold him again for "spying."

He read the same few sentences again and again, without any idea what they actually said.

Something was going on here, something he did not fully understand. It was as though he were missing pieces of a puzzle, pieces whose absence made the entire picture unrecognizable. Not just with Rhianna and Loghain, but with Fergus as well. For that matter, Oriana had seemed on edge all day. But why?

Eleanor was right: Rhianna had seemed upset about the attack on Vaughan Kendalls. Perhaps there was some connection. Rhianna was still nervous about being out in the city, ever since being locked in the guard tower when she was small. Perhaps the mention of bandits - or Vaughan's ridiculous claim about the Antivan Crows - had scared the girl. Obviously, the story about the Crows was a lie; probably it wasn't even bandits. With as badly as the boy had been beaten, it was far more likely Vaughan had been trying to weasel out of a gambling debt. Or perhaps he had taken advantage of some young girl, and the girl's father had gone after him last night. The boy had a nasty reputation.

But what any of that could possibly have to do with his son and daughter, he had no idea. And why Rhianna would confide in Loghain, rather than coming to her parents about what scared her was also a mystery.

He glanced out the window again. Now they were sitting, talking, as though nothing were wrong. Whatever upset Rhianna was feeling apparently had passed.

Probably Eleanor was right, and Rhianna was just grieving for Maric. In which case, what she needed was time. Time away from Denerim.

Fortunately, the Couslands would return to Highever next week, and for the first time in two years, things could go back to normal. Or as normal as was possible with the void left by Maric's death.

•o•

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•o•

Thank you so much to my marvelous beta, Psyche Sinclair, and also to all my fabulous reviewers: Shadowfang, DjinniGenie, Milly-finalfantasy, KrystylSky, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Mialiah, Tyrannosaurustex and Purplechaos3214.

Also, I have recorded a Dragon Age holiday song, my own reworking of "Silent Night" as a Satinalia carol. It doesn't fit into "Unshaken" (not yet, anyway), but I've posted it as a sort of holiday gift to all my followers on Tumblr, and to those of you reading my story. You'll find it in the "Dragon Age Songs - Master List," which you can find by following the "Extras" link on my profile. Happy holidays, and a blessed Satinalia to each and every one.


	45. Only her eyes were entirely the same

_**3 Solace, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Highever**_

•o•

Loghain's back ached from sitting in the saddle so long, but fortunately he was less than an hour away from Highever. He could see the castle in the distance, its grey stone towers stretching up into the sky. After traveling almost constantly for the past six months, he would be very glad of a comfortable bed for the night.

Even more, he looked forward to the excellent company awaiting him. Due to this rather monumental errand Cailan had requested of him, Loghain hadn't seen Rhianna in half a year. But, thankfully, his task was nearly at an end, and he should be able to justify making an extended stay here in Highever. A few days, at least.

Galloping hooves sounded on the road behind him. Pulling his horse to one side, he turned to look. A pair of riders approached: two women, neither of whom looked familiar, one with dark hair and one blonde. But there was a hound running alongside them, and one of the horses looked remarkably like Faolan . . .

They drew closer, and Loghain saw the horse was indeed Faolan. And the dark-haired woman was not a stranger, after all.

Rhianna.

She reined Faolan to a halt beside him, a broad smile on her face, and Loghain chided himself for not recognizing her at first. Then again, the past six months had wrought noticeable changes. Her face was thinner, her cheekbones more pronounced, her hair longer, her lips slightly more full. And, although it was difficult to judge on horseback, she looked taller, as well.

Only her eyes were entirely the same as they had always been.

She also looked exhausted, and filthy. Her hair was coming out of its braid, and there were dark stains on her clothes, and a streak of something resembling dried blood across one of her cheeks. But she smiled happily, as did the young woman riding beside her, a woman Loghain was certain he had never met before.

"Teyrn Loghain!" Rhianna exclaimed. "This is a happy surprise!"

"Yes, for me as well. I hadn't expected to see you until I arrived at the castle. But . . . Rhianna, are you . . . all right?"

She glanced down at her clothing and laughed. "I'm fine. We've just come from the smithy, where I helped deliver a set of twins." She gestured to her companion. "And this is my cousin, Luna Haverford. She's here with her mother, visiting from Starkhaven." Rhianna turned to the other woman, "Luna, this is Loghain Mac Tir, the Teyrn of Gwaren."

"Pleased to meet you, ser," Luna said pleasantly. This cousin appeared to be a few years older than Rhianna, and there was a subtle family resemblance, although Luna's hair was blonde and straight, hanging just below her shoulders, and her eyes were a clear, dark blue.

"Likewise," Loghain said, inclining his head. "Your mother is Eleanor's sister?"

"Yes, that's right," Luna replied.

"I believe she and I met once, years ago. It will be good to renew the acquaintance." He turned back to Rhianna. "You said something about twins?"

"Yes! Can you believe it? I didn't know horses could carry two babies, let alone successfully deliver them. It was a bit tricky, and the foals were small, but both were born alive and seem healthy. They were standing on their own, and had suckled from their mother before Anson - he's the blacksmith's son - returned from fetching the surgeon-farrier."

Rhianna wasn't exactly what came to mind when one thought about the daughter of a Fereldan noble. Of course, this was one of the things he liked best about her.

"So what did you name them?" he asked. This was the only price Rhianna would ever accept for her services, now most everyone in Highever had learned she was skilled at midwifing young animals into the world.

"They're called Armagh and Emain. And I didn't know you were going to be paying us a visit. Father didn't say anything about it."

Loghain chuckled. "That's because your father doesn't know; I'm not expected."

"Hmnh. Well that's a nice surprise then. Except that you're late."

"Wait a minute," Luna laughed. "How can he be late if you weren't even expecting him?"

"Because I've missed Rhianna's birthday, by two days," Loghain explained. "I did try to make it in time, but a bridge was out over the River Dane, and the detour cost me more time than Aeran could make up by riding harder."

"The River Dane? So you didn't come from Denerim?" Rhianna asked.

"No, I was coming back from Ayre, on my way to West Hill. And then, here."

"Ayre? That's out of the way. What took you so far to the west?"

"The king asked me survey the military forces in Ferelden, so I've ridden to every bannric and arling - and teyrnir - to assess how many standing troops are present."

Rhianna's smile faded. "King Cailan asked you to do this? Why now? Is there some reason we might need to defend ourselves? A threat from Orlais? Are they moving troops near our border?"

"No, no. It's nothing like that."

She raised a brow at him.

"I promise, Rhianna," he reassured. "There is no reason for concern. Cailan just wants to know where we stand. And," he added with a grin, "I think perhaps he wanted to get his father-in-law out of Denerim, and out of his hair for a few months."

"As if you weren't gone long enough while you were away at sea?"

"Apparently not. So, I'm here to get a count of the standing troops, as well as an idea of how many others could be raised from the local population if necessary. It's not a bad idea, gathering this information. And to be honest, I don't mind getting out into the countryside. I assume your father will have all those numbers to hand."

"I can tell you what you need to know," Rhianna said. "There are eight hundred Highever Regulars, give or take. About two hundred and fifty archers, and the rest are foot soldiers. Plus two dozen knights in residence. More could be found in the Free Marches if necessary; if we sent word across the sea, another two dozen, easily, would be here in just a few weeks." She looked out into the distance, thinking for a moment before adding, "And of the locals, I'd say we could raise . . . five hundred foot soldiers, and perhaps fifty people skilled with a bow, if needed. That's only including people older than eighteen; we'd have a few more if we conscripted a bit younger."

Loghain shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. He hadn't expected the teyrn himself to have those numbers in his head, let alone for Rhianna to know them. Of course, Rhianna had always taken matters related to the teyrnir quite seriously, and she was personally involved with the Regulars.

"Well," Loghain said tersely, turning Aeran to face back the way they'd just come. "I suppose there's no reason for me to ride all the way to the castle, now you've told me everything I need to know."

Rhianna's eyes grew wide, as if she thought he was serious. Then, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly, and she burst out in laughter. "Oh no you don't!" she cried, urging Faolan to take a few steps backward and blocking Aeran from continuing away from Highever. "You can't have ridden all this way just to leave again! Promise you'll stay a few days, at least. A week would be better." She grinned mischievously. "A month would be best of all."

He laughed out loud. "Very well. I can't manage a month; I need to make it through the rest of the Coastlands before the Landsmeet. But if your parents aren't put out by an unexpected guest, I had hoped to stay a few days, at least."

"Of course my parents won't mind! Besides, I'll take full responsibility for making sure you are appropriately entertained. They won't have to lift a finger."

Laughing, but pleased by the warm welcome, Loghain turned his mount back toward Highever, and together they all continued to the castle.

•o•

Rhianna's parents were, as she had promised, more than willing to offer hospitality to the teyrn. He was given a guest room just outside the family's own quarters, and told he was welcome for as long as he wished to stay.

He'd changed out of his riding clothes, and come down to the sitting room, where the family and other guests were waiting for dinner to be announced. Along with Eleanor's sister and niece, all the Couslands were present, with the exception of Rhianna, who was presumably getting herself cleaned up after delivering the twins.

Loghain took a chair near one of the windows, enjoying the warmth of the late afternoon sunshine. He had a glass of wine in his hand, and Dane had come to sit at his feet, as those gathered listened to Rhianna's cousin describe their adventure earlier in the day at the smithy.

"I'd never seen a brand new baby horse before," Luna said, her eyes bright. "They were so precious. If I were Rhianna, I'd have asked for one of them. Considering the smith was only expecting one, after all."

This garnered a laugh from her audience, but before she could continue, Fergus spoke.

"Maker's breath, Elsie," he exclaimed. Everyone turned, following Fergus' gaze, to find Rhianna standing just inside the doorway. "You look gorgeous. I've not seen that gown before; where did you get it?"

She stopped walking, seeming surprised by the sudden attention.

Fergus was right. She was gorgeous. Her dark hair was loose and still damp from the bath, hanging well past her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink, although it was difficult to tell if it was from scrubbing them clean, or because everyone in the room was now staring at her.

And, unlike Fergus, Loghain recognized the gown. It was the one he had brought back with him from his voyage, but this was the first time he'd seen her wear it. The gown suited her, even better than he had hoped it would. Mostly peacock blue, it gave her pale skin a wholesome glow, and her eyes were exactly the same shade as the green fabric inset into the bodice.

"The gown?" Rhianna replied. "It was a gift, from the teyrn. He brought it back from his adventures at sea. I think you said you found it in Rivain?" She turned her eyes to Loghain. Surely, she knew very well it had come from Rivain; most likely the question was merely a way of shifting the attention off herself.

"Yes," Loghain confirmed. "It came from Rivain."

"You have excellent taste, Loghain," Eleanor said admiringly. "It suits her remarkably well, and the green matches her eyes exactly."

"I had hoped it would; that's the reason I chose this particular gown," Loghain said. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, everyone turned to stare at him.

Perhaps he shouldn't have admitted that. Hopefully it wouldn't strike anyone as curious Loghain knew the color of Rhianna's eyes so well he'd been able to find a dress in exactly the same shade.

"I love the gown," Rhianna said, crossing the room, and perching herself on the arm of his chair. "But it's still not the best thing you brought back for me from your travels."

Maker's blood. What if she repeated what she had told him on the dock that day: that having him back in Ferelden was the best gift he could have given her? His insides went hollow at the thought.

She smiled at him, narrowing her eyes just a bit, before turning toward the others in the room. "For my fifteenth birthday Loghain gave me the most beautiful map of Thedas. The colors, the details, the workmanship . . . I have never seen anything so perfect in all my life. I'm almost afraid to touch it, for fear of ruining it, but I can't help myself and I pull it out at least once a week."

Relief flooded him, but there was a twinge of something else, as well. Disappointment? As uncomfortable as it would have been for her to share that sentiment in a room full of people, he hoped she did still feel that way.

"I visited Rivain once," Mathilde said. "The thing I remember most were the sunsets. I don't think I've ever seen a sky filled with so many colors as I saw from the Rivaini coast."

"When were you in Rivain?" Eleanor asked. "I don't remember hearing anything about that."

As Mathilde explained the circumstances surrounding her visit, Rhianna leaned close, resting her hand - warm and damp - on one of his own, where it lay in his lap.

"I wasn't exactly telling the truth just now," she whispered into his ear. "I still believe the very best thing you brought back for me was . . . you." On the final word, she gave his hand a gentle squeeze, rubbing her thumb along the back of his hand. Then she sat up straight again, catching his eye and smiling. She bit her lower lip, and then glanced down and turned away.

Had . . . had the girl just been . . . flirting with him?

Without turning her head fully in his direction, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and her lips curved into a rather mischievous smile before she looked away again.

Maker's breath. She was flirting. Unless he'd completely forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end, she was flirting.

His face grew warm, and all thoughts left his head except one: Rhianna had been flirting.

With him.

Loghain could not deny Rhianna Cousland was one of his favorite people. One of a very short list of favorite people, even shorter now Maric was gone. Since he'd returned from his voyage, he had seen her regularly, as had been his habit before he had gone to sea. But since his return, something had changed between them.

It was nothing they spoke about, nor did they discuss the correspondence they shared while he was away, but as a result of that correspondence, Loghain felt more comfortable, more secure, in his relationship with Rhianna. Perhaps what happened with Vaughan brought them closer together as well, but he suspected it would have happened either way. They had shared something unusual, something intimate, in the course of writing those letters to one another.

He couldn't remember exactly what he had written, but occasionally he reread her letters to him. At times, especially toward the end, she used a familiar tone, endearments that might have been out of place in another context. And even if he couldn't recall his exact words, he knew he had done the same. He had revealed things to her, things he would never have said aloud if they'd been face to face. During that time she had become his friend, someone he thought of as an equal.

Then he had returned to Ferelden, and any illusion he'd created in his mind that she was grown had been shattered. The fifteen-year-old girl who met him at the docks was perhaps too old to be considered a child, but most assuredly not yet an adult.

But now, two days past her seventeenth birthday, Rhianna had undoubtedly left childhood behind. A woman sat beside him now. Painfully young, yes, but a woman nonetheless.

It was distracting, to say the least. Perhaps he was unaccustomed to seeing her in a gown - particularly one he himself had given her - but she had curves he'd never noticed before. The swell of her breasts, the way the silk draped over her thigh, the delicate turn of her ankle. And her profile; all traces of the child she had been were erased, and in their stead was the dramatic sweep of her cheekbones, the perfect line of her jaw. She was . . . beautiful.

So very beautiful.

It had gone quiet in the room, as Matilde finished the explanation of her trip to Rivain. This seemed as good a time as any to give Rhianna the gift he had brought for her.

Reaching into his pocket, Loghain pulled out a small wooden box. "I seem to recall someone here had a birthday not long ago." He offered the box to Rhianna.

Her eyes lit up, and she grinned happily, clearly pleased but not surprised Loghain had remembered. She took the box from him, biting her bottom lip for just a moment before prying off the lid.

Inside, wrapped in a square of emerald-green silk, was a pair of earrings. She pulled them out and held them up for the others to see. Each had a silver Alamarri knot strung between two beads, one blue and one dark green.

"The stones are lapis, for truth and friendship, and malachite, for protection," he explained.

"Oh, Teyrn Loghain, they're beautiful!" Rhianna glanced at him, a faint blush on her cheeks. Good. She seemed to genuinely like them.

"And they match the dress she's wearing," Eleanor commented. "Was that deliberate?" Judging by her smile, she assumed it had, indeed, been done on purpose.

"I might have had the gown in mind when I chose them," he admitted. "They're not from anywhere as exotic as Rivain, though, I'm afraid. They were made by a silversmith in Gwaren, a woman whose work I have admired for years." He turned to Rhianna. "The moment I saw them, I thought they would suit you."

Rhianna removed the small silver studs she had been wearing, exchanging them for her new earrings instead.

"Well?" she asked, pulling her hair back and looking at the people assembled.

"They're lovely," Luna said, "and they look perfect on you!"

There was a murmur of agreement around the room, but Loghain didn't hear what the others said, so taken was he by Rhianna's smile. Clearly, she genuinely did like them, which gave him a warm feeling inside.

"So," Eleanor began, turning to her sister, "do you and Luna have anything planned yet for tomorrow? If not, I'm sure we can think of something entertaining."

"Oh, I'll be happy with whatever anyone else wants to do," Mathilde said. "Perhaps Luna has something more specific in mind?"

"I don't much care what we do. I'm having such a good time on this trip, I'm sure anything will be wonderful."

"Well, depending on the weather, we could take the boat out tomorrow," Fergus suggested. "If it's anything like today, it will be a good day on the water, provided the wind doesn't kick up too much."

"Oh, I like the idea of going out on your boat," Luna said. "The ship we sailed on from Kirkwall was huge. I felt so far away from the water. I love the idea of sailing on a something smaller. Are there special places you like to visit along the coast?"

"Well, there are some islands nearby, and the view if we sail west from the harbor, is rather spectacular, alternating between cliffs and beaches," Fergus replied.

Again, Rhianna leaned close, this time putting her hand on Loghain's shoulder. "If you're not interested in sailing, I'll be more than happy to stay behind with you tomorrow, while the others go out on the boat. We could do anything you'd like, instead."

This time, when she smiled, there was nothing flirtatious about it. Clearly, she meant no sexual innuendo in her invitation to do "anything" he'd like. Thankfully. That, he wasn't quite ready to face.

Even so, as the others agreed an expedition on the sea did, indeed, sound like a wonderful activity for the morrow, Loghain couldn't help but be pleased he and Rhianna would have the day all to themselves.

Sparring. He'd suggest they spend at least part of the day on the practice field. She always enjoyed that, and he was curious to see what improvements she'd made in her technique since the last time they'd crossed blades.

A man in livery appeared in the doorway. "Begging your pardon, but Cook asked me to tell you dinner is about to be served."

"Ah! Wonderful." Bryce pushed himself up from his chair, and everyone else in the room rose in preparation to go downstairs to the dining room.

Rhianna hung back, a hand on Loghain's arm silently requesting he stay behind as well.

"So?" she asked as soon as the others had left the room. "You never said what you think." She pushed a strand of hair very deliberately behind one ear, and turned her head to display the earring she wore.

One corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile. "All right. But first, I want to know what you think of them."

"Me? They're the most beautiful earrings I've ever seen in my life. I love them. Thank you, so much." Her smile was so genuine, so sincere, so appealing, he couldn't help but smile a little more broadly himself.

"Good. It makes me happy to hear that."

"So, what do you think? Of the earrings, and the gown. You've never seen me wear it before, either."

He narrowed his eyes, pretending to consider the question. Of course, he didn't need to think about his answer. She was beautiful, one of the most beautiful women he had ever known. But that wasn't exactly what she had asked.

"They're lovely on you. The earrings and the gown, both."

She grinned, as her cheeks flushed pink. "Thank you, ser." She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "And thank you for remembering my birthday. Shall we go down to dinner?"

He made a show of offering his arm, and together, they made their way to the dining hall.

•o•

•

•o•

•

•o•

_Thank you so much to my fabulous beta, Psyche Sinclair, and also to my wonderful reviewers: KrystylSky, DjinnieGenie, Milly-Finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville and WardenVaer._

_A note about the character of Luna: she is based on my son's canon Warden, also a Cousland. Since I didn't want to add another sibling to the family, I turned Luna into a cousin, as a shout-out to my son._

_Also, there is a dollmaker image of Rhianna in her Rivaini gown; follow the "Extras" link on my profile, and you'll find it with the other dollmaker images._


	46. If you don't follow through

_**4 Solace, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Highever, Practice Grounds**_

•o•

Her eyes stung, and Rhianna tried to blink away the sweat trickling down from her brow. Dressed in well-worn leathers, she held the practice sword in her right hand, a wooden dagger in her left. Her hands slick with perspiration, she tightened her grip on both weapons.

Loghain frowned as his eyes followed her movements, matching them with his own. He took step after precise step, circling with a cat-like grace that should have been impossible for a man his size, but was somehow perfectly natural for Loghain Mac Tir. He wore leathers today, and was armed with a wooden sword much larger than Rhianna's.

Without any warning, any movement that telescoped his intent, he struck, slashing backhanded with his sword, trying to exploit her left side, which was protected only by the dagger.

Rhianna leapt backward out of the way. Graceful though the teyrn might be, Rhianna was still far quicker and lighter on her feet than he was.

As Loghain recovered from his attack, Rhianna crouched low, not just ready but eager to engage. Slowly, never taking their eyes off one another, they began circling again. Rhianna would never beat him in a contest of strength; her only chance was to take him by surprise and deal a decisive blow when he wasn't expecting it. He had trained her well; she was far more skilled than she had a right to be at this age. But because he had trained her, he could anticipate most of her moves.

She did, however, have a couple of new tricks up her sleeve. All she needed was an opening to try one of them.

In truth, she had more than a couple of new tricks; she had spent a lot of time and effort over the past two years working to improve her technique. The memory of what Vaughan had done - how helpless she'd felt, pushed up against the tree, not sure she would be able to fight him off – made her feel small and scared. She wanted to never feel that way again. Not ever again.

She was also still haunted by what happened to the other woman Vaughan had attacked that night. The dark-haired prostitute Vaughan had attacked, in his anger at Rhianna.

The day after her conversation with Loghain in the garden, Rhianna convinced Fergus to accompany her into town. He'd balked at first when she told him what she wanted to do, but in the end he'd agreed. (Of course he agreed; he knew otherwise she would go by herself, and he couldn't have that). So, together, they went to Blytheswood Lane, a place Rhianna could honestly not have imagined without seeing it with her own eyes. From there, Dane helped them find the house where the woman lived.

Rhianna hadn't been able to explain to Fergus why it was so important for her to do this, to meet this woman. Probably because Rhianna wasn't entirely sure herself. All she knew was she needed to see her, to learn her name. To apologize, even though she knew in her mind what had happened was Vaughan's fault, not Rhianna's. To see if there was anything at all this woman needed that Rhianna could provide.

The woman, whose named turned out to be Catrin, had been suspicious at first, but when Rhianna tugged at the neckline of her gown, revealing the bruises on one of her arms and her shoulder, Catrin invited them in to her small but meticulously clean house.

Rhianna had a difficult time not staring. The blackened, swollen eye. The scab on her lip. But Catrin laughed, and said she'd had worse.

They didn't talk for long; there really wasn't much to say. Catrin wanted nothing from Rhianna; the woman admitted she had followed Loghain and Fergus that night, and taken a few things from Vaughan as he lay prone in the street. Including his heirloom dagger, a gorgeous weapon that would surely fetch a high price when she could find someone to buy it.

In the end, Catrin would accept nothing more than the poultices Rhianna had brought, to heal the blackened eye and busted lip. Even so, it had been a good conversation, and Rhianna was glad she sought the woman out. It scared her, seeing the life Catrin lived, learning what sort of business was conducted on the street where she made her home. Realizing that being beaten was not an unknown occurrence, and being face with the knowledge a great many people lived this way every day of their lives. It made what Vaughan had done seem that much worse, and the sight of Catrin's battered face would not soon be forgotten.

So, Rhianna trained. With her sword and her dagger, with her dagger alone, and sometimes with no weapon at all. It helped distract her mind from thoughts of Vaughan.

The first few months had been the worst. She'd been fearful and anxious almost all the time. Sometimes she even forgot why, or what she was afraid of: someone jumping out at her, grabbing her, touching her in ways she didn't want to be touched. Fear was a constant companion, any time she wasn't with other people. Her eyes were drawn time and time again to shadowy places, and her heart beat faster every time she turned a corner. She often felt an urge to stay in bed, curled up in a ball under the blankets. Or hide away in a closet. Sometimes she cried herself to sleep at night, clutching tight to Dane's neck as he nuzzled beside her, offering comfort she couldn't always accept.

As months passed, the fear began to recede. Sometimes she could go for days without thinking about Vaughan. Dark places still scared her, although that fear pre-dated Vaughan's attack, and she almost never went anywhere without Dane at her side. But she no longer woke in the middle of the night in a panic, and she didn't look over her shoulder as often. Especially in Highever, she'd started feeling normal again, most of the time. Until something triggered the memory - random things, not even related to Vaughan at all - and all the fear came rushing back.

Still, over time, things got better. At least when she was in Highever.

Being in Denerim was another story altogether. In Denerim, there was always the possibility she might run into Vaughan. The possibility he might come after her, hide in the shadows waiting for her to walk by. The possibility that this time he wouldn't take any chances she might get away.

And of couse there was what he had said, the words that echoed in her mind again and again and again:

"_Everyone knows what a little slut you are_."

She managed to stay away from Denerim for several months, but when the family traveled to the city for the previous year's Landsmeet, Rhianna had come, too. Fergus suggested she stay in Highever, but it seemed cowardly to stay away for fear of what people might say about her, and likely to make them gossip even more. And explaining to her parents why she didn't want to come would have been tricky, and necessitated the fabrication of some sort of lie, since they still knew nothing of what had happened with Vaughan.

But most of all, if she stayed in Highever, she wouldn't have been able to see Loghain at all. And the opportunity to spend time with him was worth all the nasty gossip in the world.

So, she'd gone to Denerim, and held her head high through a week's worth of salons and banquets. Surprisingly, it wasn't as bad as she'd expected it to be. Even though the thought of Vaughan still made her afraid, in reality, he was the least of her worries. She only saw him once the entire time she was in the city, and then only from a distance, at the banquet that followed the opening session of the Landsmeet. And in all the times she could bring herself to glance over at him, not once did she catch his eyes on her. Perhaps Loghain and Fergus really had managed to convince Vaughan to stay away.

Habren, on the other hand, was awful, and made no attempt to hide the fact she was whispering about Rhianna the moment her back was turned (and occasionally when it wasn't). But no one else seemed to treat Rhianna any differently than they had before, and Delilah Howe even made an effort to be friendly. Rhianna had always liked Delilah, but in the past they only talked when no one else was around. In large groups, Delilah kept to herself, probably to avoid being bullied by Habren for being kind to Rhianna. Apparently this year Delilah decided she didn't care what Habren, or Delilah's brother Thomas, might think. It was nice. A couple of times, it almost felt like Rhianna and Delilah were friends, real friends, something Rhianna had never experienced with someone her own age.

At any rate, Rhianna survived the season in Denerim, and back home in Highever, she'd devoted a lot of time, more than ever before, to training. Never again would she be caught off-guard like that. Never again would she allow any man to touch her in a way she did not want to be touched. At least that's what she told herself over and over and over again, when pushing so hard during practice.

So she had trained and trained, and watched the more experienced Regulars at their practice, and begged them to spar with her and teach her things, here and there. In this way, she had learned a few things Loghain hadn't taught her. Hopefully, she'd be able to surprise him with one of those things.

Now, Loghain stood across from her, crouching slightly, his eyes narrowed, his sword held down as though he wasn't truly prepared to engage. But this was an act; he could attack in the blink of an eye, whether his opponent thought he looked "ready" or not.

This was exactly what he did. He charged, and again she dodged, this time managing to slap her longsword against the small of his back, a solid blow before she spun out of the way. He grunted softly but gave no other sign he had been hit. His pace did not flag, he didn't gasp for breath. He merely recovered from his swing and continued coming toward her in that relentless way of his.

Lifting a brow at her, a faint smile touched his lips. He appeared cocky, secure in the knowledge that, sooner or later, his superior stamina would overcome her agility and she would make a mistake. Any mistake, even the tiniest slip of her foot, or half-second of hesitation, would be all the opportunity he would need. And then, he would finish it.

She wasn't close to admitting defeat, though. Her breath came fast, but it wasn't a struggle. If anything, her excitement, the way her nerves felt on fire, the buzzing in her ears, gave her more accuracy, more power, more speed. A greater level of alertness in a wide arc in front of her. And she, too, could be patient. Yes, if she let him wear her down, he would win. But she wasn't the only one who might make a mistake. And if he made one first . . .

Perhaps she could even goad him into making that mistake.

Retreating a few steps, she tossed her longsword onto the ground near the fence surrounding the practice yard, and switched the dagger to her right hand. Loghain's brow furrowed, but didn't comment as she stepped back in range.

He lunged; she dodged. Before he could recover, she swiped at him with the dagger, knowing he would easily parry the blow, and then she whirled away before he could swing.

They continued this dance, Rhianna swiping, Loghain charging, but neither one landing a solid blow. Rhianna had no intention of actually trying to strike him with the dagger. It wouldn't do nearly enough damage to make it worth the risk she took by getting in so close. She was waiting, biding her time until he did something, made some mistake she could use to her advantage.

Finally, he did. A muscle above one of his eyes twitched, giving away his intent to attack. Rhianna leapt out of the way a split second sooner than usual. Rolling head over heels, she easily got away from the blade, but instead of springing back to her feet, she planted her hands on the ground and kicked out with one foot, catching Loghain's leg just behind the knee, and knocking him off balance, dropping him to the ground on his back. Before he could recover, Rhianna pounced, catlike, from the ground, landing on top of him. Straddling his waist with her legs, she held the dagger at a deadly angle right above the main artery in his neck.

His eyes were wide and surprised, not enough so anyone who didn't know him well would notice. But Rhianna was one of the few people who knew him well enough.

The tiniest of smiles played across her lips.

With the dagger still pressed against his throat, he nodded his approval.

"There's just one thing, Rhianna," he said, slightly out of breath. "You can't hesitate. Not if you were doing that for real."

Almost before his words registered in Rhianna's mind, Loghain thrust upward against her forearm, moving the dagger away from his throat. Then, using his legs and the muscles in his back, he flipped himself over, taking her with him. He landed on top of her with a thump that forced the breath from her lungs and made her ache where she impacted the ground. Pressing down on her with his body, Loghain grabbed her arms and pinned them to the dusty ground on either side of her head.

His face mere inches above hers, he stared into her eyes.

"If you had slit my throat right away, you would have won. And," he let one corner of his mouth turn up in a smile, "For my sake, I'm glad you didn't try. Especially with a wooden dagger. But I need you to remember what can happen if you don't follow through."

He pushed his hips down, squashing her against the ground. It felt as though her bones were grinding against one another, and she grunted from the pain.

"There is no way you will be able to dislodge a two hundred pound man, plus the weight of his armor. Not now, and not ever. So make sure you never again find yourself in this position."

Now, it was a struggle to catch her breath. "Yes, ser."

He stared at her for the space of a few heartbeats. Then he pulled himself up and off of her, extending an arm to help her to her feet.

"That was nicely done, though. Not for tournaments, but useful in an actual fight. As long as you follow through."

Rhianna blinked quickly, surprised. Loghain had never praised her before, not during a training session. She knew he was proud of her, of course, and she knew when she'd done well because he stopped swearing and telling her she was lazy and slow. But actual praise? That had never happened before, as far as she could remember.

She must have done very well, indeed.

•o•

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•

•o•

As always, thank you to my lovely beta, Psyche Sinclair, and my wonderful reviewers: Milly-finalfantasy, GLCW2, KrystylSky, Tyrannosaurustex, DjinniGenie, Shadowfang, Arsinoe de Blassenville and Serena R. Snape.

Also, a big thank you to Tyrannosaurustex, who drew two lovely portraits of Rhianna for me; you'll find them on the Extras, as well. :)

To Shadowfang: Haha! You're right, Loghain is a rare sort of man for matching clothes and accessories. I hadn't thought about it that way before, but the thought makes me smile now you've pointed it out. I suspect he had some practice helping Anora with such things when she was young.


	47. Well and truly conquered

_**7 Solace, 9:29 Dragon  
Near Highever**_

•o•

Highever town bustled with tradespeople and locals and visitors all going about their morning business. As Rhianna and Loghain made their way up the high street, they were greeted by nearly everyone they passed.

"Good day to you, Lady Cousland."

"Morning, Milady! And to you as well, Ser."

"Pleasure to see you this morning, Lady Rhianna."

Rhianna smiled brightly at everyone, greeting them by name. It was touching to see how beloved she was of the people in Highever.

For the past three days, Loghain and Rhianna had been on a variety of adventures, accompanied by Rhianna's cousin, Luna, and her mother, Mathilde. They'd been to see the brand new twin foals, who were causing quite a stir among the locals. They'd taken Luna to see the Alamarri ruins, and ridden up into the hills. But this morning just before dawn, the relations from Starkhaven sailed out of Highever on a ship headed back across the Waking Sea, so Loghain and Rhianna were on their own again.

Leading the way through the crowded streets, Rhianna's destination soon became clear: a small shop, where an old man sat under the awning, surrounded by crates full of baked goods.

"Good morning, milady!"

"Hello, Garrick! How are you today?"

"I can't complain. Especially not when I have the pleasure of a visit from one of my very favorite people. And you, ser," he inclined his head to Loghain. "A good morning to you as well, Teyrn Loghain."

"Good morning," Loghain replied.

"I heard about the horses you helped deliver," Garrick said, addressing Rhianna again. "It's good luck, that is. A mare birthing two babies, and both of them alive and well."

"I think you're right; it must be lucky. Have you seen them? They're absolutely beautiful."

"I've not made it to see them yet. Anson promised to bring them round one of these days, after they're weaned. My leg's been paining my lately, and a walk out to the smithy sounds a bit out of my reach just now."

"If you'd like to see them sooner, I'll be happy to take you out there whenever you'd like. You can ride Faolan."

"Now, you've plenty to do already without carting an old man here and there about town. Besides, I'm not fond of riding. Horses are . . . big. I'll just stay down here, thank you, and see the foals when Anson has a moment to bring them by. But thank you for the offer." He smiled, his blue eyes wrinkling at the corners. "And where are the two of you off to today, then?"

"I thought we'd go to Sarim's Point. To the beach there." Rhianna looked up at the sky. "It's going to be lovely and warm today, maybe even warm enough to swim."

"Sounds grand," the man said with a chuckle. "Just don't let her get lost along the way," he said to Loghain, giving him a wink. "That's a joke of course. I doubt there is anyone knows these parts better than the teyrn's lovely daughter." Rhianna laughed as the white-haired man pulled himself to his feet. "So, what can I get for you today, milady?"

"Six pasties, please? If you still have any left today."

"For you? Always." He wandered back into the building and emerged a minute later, carrying a carefully wrapped bundle. He handed them to Rhianna with a smile. "Here you go, my dear."

"How much do we owe you," Loghain said, preparing to pull some coins out of his pouch.

The man waved his hands, saying, "For Lady Rhianna? No charge, ser. Not for Lady Rhianna."

"Garrick," Rhianna scolded.

"Now, you know it's no use you complaining," he insisted. "I don't want your money. Not after all you do for the people hereabouts, and never accepting a sovereign for your troubles."

"But I'm the teyrn's daughter. It's my duty to help people."

"In my opinion, you go above and beyond, milady. Now get on with you. The beach is waiting, and it's not polite to argue with a feeble old man."

"Feeble? Hah!" She crossed her arms for a moment, but then sighed as if in surrender. "Oh, all right. I won't argue. But I do wonder about you sometimes, Garrick. What sort of businessman gives away his wares for free?" She winked at Garrick, then handed the package with the pasties to Loghain. "Do you mind carrying them?"

"Of course not. And I'm looking forward to eating them. I had one a few years ago at the Festival," Loghain addressed this comment to Garrick, "and it was truly the best pasty I have ever tasted."

Blushing slightly, the baker said, "Well, I thank you very much for that, ser. And I do wish you and the young lady both a lovely day."

As they were leaving, Rhianna tripped. On her own feet, apparently. Loghain blinked with surprise; he'd never seen her do anything clumsy in her life. She caught herself, though, reaching out for the baker's shoulder. Garrick grabbed one of her arms to steady her.

"What's this, milady? Are you all right?"

"Oh, Maker's breath! Yes, I'm all right. I must have stepped on a pebble, or something." As she pulled away, Loghain saw her slip a coin into the man's pocket.

"Thank you, again, Garrick," Rhianna said warmly. "I hope you have a good day."

"And you as well, milady." He smiled at her, then nodded to Loghain. "Good day to the both of you."

•o•

Soon, Loghain and Rhianna were on their way east along the coast road, Dane racing in front of the horses. The weather was fine: a beautiful late summer day, just warm enough to make the ocean look inviting. Well before noon, they arrived at Sarim's Point, named for Rhianna's ancestor, Sarim Cousland, the first Cousland to claim ownership of any part of the Coastlands. Sarim had been captain of the Highever guard, only becoming bann after the previous bann, a man named Conobar, was murdered by his wife.

The three companions found the beach deserted, and chose a spot right in the middle to set up their picnic. Rhianna laid a blanket on the soft, warm sand, and Loghain and Rhianna both removed their boots before digging into the lunch basket Nan had packed, as well as the pasties, lovingly wrapped by Garrick. Instead of six pasties, there were eight, so Loghain and Dane each got an extra one (much to their mutual pleasure).

When their appetites were sated, all three lounged in the sunshine. Loghain was a bit surprised Rhianna hadn't suggested swimming; usually, she was in the water at the first opportunity. He was also more than a bit relieved she hadn't. Although it hadn't occurred to him when she suggested coming to the beach, such things were complicated now in a way they hadn't been a few years earlier. No matter how warm it was, or how inviting, Loghain had no intention of undressing in front of her, in order to go in the water. What had been fine when she was twelve seemed wholly inappropriate now.

And the thought she might decide to remove her own clothing and go for a swim was . . . disconcerting.

Perhaps coming to the beach hadn't been the wisest idea, after all.

"Do you know what I would enjoy right now?" Loghain asked, shading his eyes with one hands, to block the sun.

"What?"

"If you would sing for me."

"You want me to sing?" She wrinkled up her nose, as she always did when he asked her to sing. But he knew eventually he would convince her. Today, she didn't require any convincing at all. "What sort of song."

"Any sort. You choose."

"All right." She thought for a moment. "Oh, I know the one. It's one of my very favorite songs, but I don't think I've ever sung it for you before. And then afterwards, I want to ask you a question. I have a theory about it, and I want to see if you agree."

"Fair enough."

She sat up straighter, looking out over the sea, and a took a deep breath.

_My love said to me, "My mother won't mind,  
__"And me father won't slight you for your lack of kind."  
__She came close beside me and this she did say:  
__"It will not be long, love, 'till our wedding day."_

_She stepped away from me through the Denerim fair  
__And fondly I watched her move here and move there.  
__She went away homeward with one star awake  
__The Pilgrim's Path to the north she did take._

_The people were saying no two ere were wed.  
__But one has a sorrow that never was said.  
__She went away homeward with her goods and her gear.  
__And that was the last that I saw of my dear._

_I dreamt it last night that my true love came in.  
__So softly she entered, her feet made no din.  
__She came close beside me, and this she did say:  
__"It will not be long my love, 'till our wedding day."_

Rhianna's voice trailed off on the last note, held longer than any of the others, and Loghain studied her profile as she gazed off into the distance.

She was so lovely, with her dark hair and green eyes. Her lips were full and red, and perfectly shaped, her cheeks flushed slightly pink in the sun. The breeze had blown a few strands of hair free of its braid, and she tucked them behind her ear. His eyes followed the line of her jaw, and the curve of her neck, moving down, taking in the swell of her bosom before he forced himself to look away.

"You had a question for me?" he asked, needing to distract himself from the uncomfortable path his mind was taking.

"Yes. I think it's a ghost story. Nobody else I've asked seems to agree with me. Well, really I've only ever asked Nan and Fergus, but they both said I was being silly. So I'd like to know what you think about the idea."

"What do you mean, a ghost story? Which one is the ghost? The girl at the fair, or the lover who sings about her?"

"The girl at the fair, of course."

"Do you think she's was never real at all? Or that she died?"

"I think she died. That when he 'dreamt' his true love came in? It wasn't a dream at all, but it was her ghost, returning to him from beyond the pyre."

Loghain considered this a moment. "What makes you think she's dead, and not just a dream?"

"Well, she has to be dead, doesn't she? I mean, they were in love, and planned to marry, but they didn't end up getting married after all. So she must have died, on her way home that day. Or some other day. What other reason could there be for them not getting married?"

Loghain could think of countless reasons for two people - even people who loved one another - to not get married. But Rhianna looked so earnest - clearly, she had considered this question at some length - and surely she didn't want to hear practical reasons, none of which held any spark of romance.

"You could be right. A ghost coming to him like that in the middle of the night? It could have seemed like a dream. Or perhaps he preferred to think of it as a dream. Perhaps the idea her actual ghost had come to him would have been . . . unsettling. Frightening, even."

"Exactly," she agreed. "That's exactly what I think about it. Do you think that happens? Ghosts, coming to people in the middle of the night, I mean? Have you ever seen a ghost?"

Loghain had seen a great many things in his life, several of which he wished he could forget. But a ghost? "No, I don't believe I have. Although I have certainly heard tales about them. Some of which I assume are true."

"I've never seen one either. At least not as far as I know. Perhaps they only show themselves if they have a really good reason. I mean, most of the time you think of ghosts as being scary, right? But in the song, she's coming to the man she loved. Surely, she wouldn't have wanted to frighten him. I suppose if I were to die unexpectedly, I might try to visit the man I loved. Perhaps ghosts - nice ghosts anyway - don't come to you unless they know you won't be scared. That's why I think I shall probably never see one. I think I'd be very frightened. Like when I was in Kirkwall, and kept seeing things moving in the shadows. It made me feel horribly unsettled."

"I agree. I don't think I'd enjoy seeing a ghost, either. Your idea about friendly ghosts is . . . intriguing, however. Not much like the stories I was told as a child. Then, the ghosts were always horrible, trying to drag unsuspecting people to their doom. Or naughty boys who didn't do as they were told, as the case may be."

Rhianna laughed, a sound like water trickling over rocks. "I didn't get threatened with stories about ghosts. Werewolves, yes. And the Witch of the Wilds, who would carry off naughty girls who spent too much time preening in front of the looking glass. And Nan must have told me a hundred stories I was meant to learn something from . . . there was one about a dog who bit his master, and one about an oak tree and the reeds. Usually, Nan's stories were about pride coming before a fall. I think she wanted to make sure being a teyrn's daughter never went to my head."

"She must have done a good job of it. It's funny," Loghain mused, glancing at her bare feet, her toes half-buried in the sand, then at the loose strands of her hair framing her face. "Sometimes I forget you're the daughter of a nobleman. You're not much like the rest of them. I could picture you just as easily living out in the Bannorn, the daughter of a farmer. Working the land, helping birth the livestock." His brow furrowed. "I hope you won't take that the wrong way," he added. "I certainly don't mean it as an insult."

She chuckled. "How could I possibly find it insulting? Your mother was a farmer, was she not? It's hard for me to imagine you would consider that an insult." Then she smiled at him, her eyes warm, and he thought, not for the first time, that his mother and his father both would have liked this young woman. And how much he, himself, liked this young woman.

She fell silent after this, and the two humans sat companionably together, watching the surf, and shorebirds flying by, and the huge dog kick his legs in his sleep, as if chasing after things in his dream, most likely hares or pheasants. Presumably not ghosts.

After a while, Rhianna threw her head back and looked up into the sky, and then got to her feet. "I'm going in the water," she announced, but instead of removing her trousers, she just rolled up the bottoms so they were up above her knees. "Just wading, though. Not really for a swim." She glanced at the teyrn. "Are you coming?"

He chuckled, relieved the girl hadn't undressed. "Why not?" He followed her example, and rolled up the hem of his trousers. By the time he finished, she was already ankle-deep in the water, bent over poking at something in the surf. She stood, and turned to him, something in the palm of her hands. A small crab, with one large claw and one small claw. The creature moved side to side along her hand in a comical fashion, until Rhianna released it back into the sea.

Leaving Dane asleep on the blanket, Rhianna and Loghain walked along the edge of the sea, wading farther in, and then running back up the beach to get away from incoming waves. It was lovely and calming. Loghain genuinely enjoyed the girl's company. No. Not a girl. She was a young woman now, He needed to stop thinking of her as a girl.

She stopped to play with a seal who pulled himself up onto the beach in front of them, rolling onto his back so Rhianna could rub the spotted grey belly. Finally, when they reached the tip of land marking the end of the cove - the "point" for which the place was named - they turned and started back to their blanket, where Dane was still fast asleep.

Something caught Loghain's eye: a piece of wood that looked unusually smooth half-buried in the sand, and he stopped to dig it out.

Rhianna called, "Loghain, look what I've found!" She held something orange in her hands, but behind her a wave was coming in nearly up to her waist, threatening to knock her off her feet.

"Rhianna! Look out!" His warning came too late; she turned just as the wave hit. It swept her off her feet, and she disappeared under the surf.

Loghain hurried into the water, reaching her as she stuck her head above the surface. When the wave receded, she sat in a foot of water, completely drenched. She looked up at him, and burst into laughter.

"Maker's _breath_!" she swore, "I wasn't expecting that!" She tried to climb to her feet, but another large wave swept in. Loghain reached down, trying to pull her up in time to avoid it, but the wave got to her first, and he leapt backwards to avoid being knocked over himself.

Once again, she was sitting in water up to her armpits.

Rhianna laughed again, and this time made it back onto her feet. "Darn it, I lost the starfish. I'd found the loveliest orange starfish, and I wanted you to see it."

She waded out into deeper water, looking to see if she could relocate the creature.

"Rhianna," Loghain warned, "you're going to get knocked over again." The tide must have started coming in, because the waves were getting increasingly larger, and coming in farther, than just a few minutes before.

"That hardly matters now," she joked with a giggle. "I'm already soaking wet. Oh! There he is!" She reached into the surf just as another big wave came and crashed into her, knocking her backwards again. She was sputtering and laughing as the wave receded. "Look!" she exclaimed triumphantly. "I found him!" In both hands, she held up what was a truly impressive star fish - as large as her head, and bright orange with five legs evenly spaced. But even as she spoke, she was in danger of being knocked down by the biggest wave yet.

Loghain rushed in, determined to keep her from being swept off her feet yet again. Grabbing beneath her armpits, he tried to haul her back up the beach and out of the way, but he wasn't fast enough. The wave knocked them both over, and they went tumbling into one another in the shallow water.

When they surfaced, Rhianna let go of the starfish, laughing merrily. "Look at you! You're a mess, your hair dripping wet and going every which way!"

"You're one to talk," he rebutted. "You look like a drowned rat."

He got to his feet, and offered her his hand. She reached up and grabbed it, but instead of allowing him to help her to her feet, she tugged on his arm, sending him splashing back into the water beside her, just as they were hit by another large wave.

She giggled maniacally when he emerged, spitting saltwater out of his mouth, next to her. "That'll teach you. A drowned rat, indeed!"

He fixed her with a glower reminiscent of the one he'd worn when she'd splashed him that day at the waterfall.

"Consequences."

Just one word, but clearly Rhianna knew very well what it meant, and her eyes grew wide. Squealing with what sounded like equal parts delight and terror, she scooted backwards over the sand as he lunged at her. He grabbed one of her ankles, but her skin was slippery from the water, and she was able to pull away. She scrambled to her feet, and started running up the beach, but Loghain was close on her heels.

Before she'd gone ten yards, he tackled her from behind, throwing his arms around her waist, and bringing her crashing to the ground beneath him. She hit the sand with a cry of surprise, and tried to crawl away, but he followed after her. Twisting her body, she flipped onto her back and tried to push him away with her feet, but before she could get any leverage in the soft sand, Loghain was on top of her, crushing her beneath his body as he had the other day on the practice field, a satisfied grin on his face.

Rhianna burst into delighted laughter as Loghain pinned her arms on either side of her head, his hair dripping water onto her face.

"It appears, ser," she laughed, "I have been well and truly conquered."

As Loghain looked down at her, he became aware of her warm body lying beneath him, her chest heaving slightly from exertion. When she laughed, her face looked so joyful, her eyes so bright, and he was flooded with sensations he hadn't felt in a very long time. His breath sped up, and his body responded to the undeniably beautiful young woman lying beneath him.

Blessed Andraste. He was supposed to be immune to these urges; a man his age should have better control. He'd certainly felt nothing like this a few days ago when he'd flipped her onto her back during combat practice.

Of course, then she'd worn a leather cuirass, not a wet linen shirt that clung to her breasts, her hard, dark nipples showing clearly through the layers of fabric. And he'd worn leathers that kept him from feeling the contours of her body beneath him.

Maker's blood. He wanted her.

As his eyes studied her face, as he became aware of the places his body was pressed up against hers, Loghain was helpless to stop the rush of thoughts and feelings.

He wanted her.

He wanted to kiss her, to cover her lips with his own, to taste the sweetness of her mouth. He wanted to feel her smooth skin underneath his palms, to run his thumb across one of her nipples, to search her hidden places with his fingers and make her moan with pleasure. He wanted to feel her breath against his ear as she wrapped her body around his, He wanted her to cry out his name as they moved together in the sand. He felt himself grow hard against her belly, and fought the urge to tear away the few thin layers of clothing between them, and bury himself inside her softness, her heat.

Maker help him, but he wanted her, as much as he had ever wanted anyone or anything in his life.

As he was on the verge of shifting his body to pull her into his arms and claim her, he looked again into her face. There, he saw not just the woman she was now, but the ghost of the child he had known for so many years.

_What is wrong with you, man?_

She was barely seventeen years old. Not so very young anymore, but still so painfully innocent. This was no girl to joke about taking lovers behind her husband's back, and he doubted she had yet figured out the various possible meanings of "on her knees" from Habren's dirty poem. She had likely never even been kissed, let alone felt a man's caress on her skin.

If he leaned down to kiss her, she would not deny him. He could see it in her eyes. Because she'd known him her whole life, and she trusted him, perhaps even loved him. She would allow him to remove her clothing, and his own, and take her right here on this beach. She would do her best to please him, to give him anything she thought he wanted.

But it would be wrong.

Loghain could not be with her, not like this. Before anything could happen between them, he needed to know it was what she wanted. What she truly wanted. That she came to him enthusiastically, for her own sake. Not from some misguided desire to give him what he wanted during a moment of his own uncontrolled lust.

And the thought he had considered, even for a moment, taking advantage of her like this horrified him.

As if she sensed the change in his mood, her smile slipped away. In her eyes, there was fear, as if she knew what he were thinking and it frightened her.

He pulled himself onto his feet. Turning away, he ran his hands over his face and pushed his hair out of his eyes. Then, without looking back, he jogged into the sea, diving beneath a wave and swimming out past the surf line, giving time and cold water a chance to undo what proximity to Rhianna had done to his body.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Rhianna propped herself onto her elbows. She was having trouble catching her breath, both from trying to escape Loghain's pursuit, and from . . . whatever it was that happened afterward.

For a moment, it seemed he wanted to kiss her. She had been certain of it. And she wanted him to kiss her, wanted it so very much but she'd been frightened, too, and then he had looked at her in horror, and run away. She didn't know what she'd done wrong, but as she watched him swim away from shore, hot tears formed behind her eyes. Angry with herself, she wiped them away. She mustn't cry; only babies cried. But another tear escaped, and ran down her cheek.

All she wanted - all she had _ever_ wanted - was for him to love her. And for a moment, there had been something in his eyes, something warm, something that made her heart beat faster.

But then it had vanished, or perhaps it had never been there at all and she was just imagining things, because she wanted so much for him to love her, to return the feelings she had for him.

Because she did genuinely love him. The things she felt at the wedding banquet all those years ago, when they'd talked in the garden and he had danced with her, hadn't faded. And then, the correspondence they shared while he was at sea only convinced her further of her feelings, as did the way he responded after Vaughan's attack.

Loghain was so kind, so witty. So gentle. Always concerned for her. Always making certain she was safe. So brave, so incredibly brave to do all the things he had done.

And so handsome.

Yes, she was in love with Loghain Mac Tir.

But that hardly mattered if he never felt the same. As if he would. Just how stupid could she be? To think a man like Loghain Mac Tir would ever be interested in her. He was a teyrn. A hero. One of the most important men in all of Thedas. She was an exceedingly good match for a great many men in Ferelden, but Loghain wouldn't care about that. His status wouldn't be improved in any way by marrying her.

Even so, she had thought - she had hoped - maybe it wouldn't matter. Maybe he would want her just for herself. Like he'd said the night they danced at Anora and Cailan's wedding.

Except he hadn't said he'd loved her, just that he liked her. Maybe Habren was right. Maybe there was something horrible about Rhianna, something ugly. Certainly something had driven him away just now. Maybe he'd sensed what she was feeling, and had been repulsed by the thought of her wanting him.

Maybe she needed to accept this was never going to happen.

He swam back to shore, emerged from the water, and strode over to where Rhianna sat. He offered her his hand, and this time she allowed him to pull her to her feet.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, which looked haunted, somehow. She bit her lower lip. What could she say to fix whatever had just happened between them? To apologize for whatever she had done wrong, to make him stop being angry at her? If indeed, he was angry. She wasn't even sure about that.

She wasn't sure about anything.

Before she could think of anything to say, Loghain reached up, taking her face between both of his hands. He stepped close, as though again he meant to kiss her, but he merely lowered his forehead to rest against hers. She slipped her arms around his waist, and she could feel his breathing, slightly labored. He moved even closer, and a wave of calm washed over her. Whatever had happened, he was no longer angry. Whatever he was feeling, at least he didn't want to run away from her now.

When they pulled apart, Rhianna looked into Loghain's face again. The haunted look was gone, replaced by an expression she couldn't interpret. He didn't look sad, exactly, but he didn't look happy, and his eyes roamed over her face in a way that made her feel exposed, naked, in a way she had never felt before.

She blinked, and the searching look was gone. Now he merely looked tired. One of his braids clung to his cheek, and she reached up to push it back behind his ear. Before she could pull away, he caught her hand. Pressing his face into her palm, he closed his eyes, and she could feel his breath on her hand as he inhaled, and exhaled.

When he opened his eyes, she finally dared to allow a smile, small and nervous, to cross her face. He smiled in return.

A loud bark caused both of them to turn their heads toward the picnic blanket. Dane had awoken from his nap, and was barking to get their attention.

_What in the world happened to the two of you, and why are you all wet?_

Glancing at Loghain, Rhianna was seized by the urge to laugh. She chuckled once, and then again, and then she burst into merry laughter.

A moment later, Loghain joined in, and she reached for him, wanting to steady herself as she struggled to breathe, and he grabbed her shoulders, as his chest shook from laughing.

"Dane's right, you know," Rhianna laughed. "We're ridiculous, the pair of us. The Hero of River Dane and the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever, and here we are, soaked to the skin. In all our clothes." She laughed again, even harder. Then her laughter died away as a new thought occurred to her. "What are we going to do now? We need to find someway to dry off, or we'll be miserable on the ride home."

"At least the weather is warm enough we won't freeze to death," Loghain quipped. "But we should probably try and wring as much water out of these clothes as possible."

"Good idea," Rhianna agreed, then she turned to walk away a few paces. With her back to Loghain, she quickly pulled off her shirt, trying not to think about the fact that he might be looking at her bare back. She took a quick glance over her shoulder; Loghain wasn't watching. He had also turned his back to her, and was doing the same with his clothing.

With both of them taking great care not to peek at the other, in a very few minutes, they'd wrung out their clothes, slipped them back on, and returned to the blanket.

"Well, I'm not exactly dry," Rhianna said, her nose wrinkled in dismay. "But at least I'm not dripping wet anymore."

"In this heat, our clothes should dry out soon enough," Loghain replied.

Rhianna flopped down beside Dane and rested her arms across the dog's back. Loghain joined her on the blanket, taking a flask out of the basket. He took a long drink of wine, and then offered the flask to Rhianna. She accepted it, grateful for the bitterness that cut through the taste of salt water in her mouth, and that it gave her something to do with her hands as she tried to recover from the disquiet she felt over what had happened with Loghain a few minutes ago.

If, indeed, anything had happened. Perhaps she was just imagining things, and Loghain had just felt like going for a quick swim.

Resting her head on Dane's back, Rhianna closed her eyes.

•o•o•o•o•o•

Loghain leaned back on his elbows and stared out over the Waking Sea.

Maker's balls. What happened with Rhianna on the beach left him unsettled, to say the least. What was he to do with this new . . . attraction he felt for her? It was surprising, and he almost felt betrayed, by his mind, and his body. Which, of course, was stupid. He should have seen it coming. For years, he'd watched her grow, right before his eyes, and it had always been clear, sooner or later, she would be an extremely attractive woman. But somehow, he'd managed to ignore those thoughts, push them away as something he would deal with "in the future." But now, the future had come, and he could no longer avoid what would happen when he noticed her . . . sexually.

If he had been here right now, Maric would be laughing hysterically at Loghain's plight. And no doubt urging him to hurry up already and marry her.

It was tempting. Loghain could speak to Bryce and Eleanor tonight. If Rhianna was agreeable, and he wanted to move things along quickly, she could be his wife within the month.

His wife.

But would she be agreeable? She was fond of him, but perhaps all she wanted was friendship. During their correspondence, she had hinted at marriage, and in the last substantive letter she had written, she joked about it directly. About the possibility of keeping a menagerie in Gwaren. He had never been entirely certain, though, whether she meant the whole thing as a joke, or if she were joking only about the menagerie, and quite serious about the marriage.

And she'd never mentioned being interested in anyone else, someone her own age, and he'd certainly never seen her in anyone else's company.

He allowed himself to enjoy the lines of her face, to watch her back rise and fall gently with her breath. Something inside of him ached with the possibility she could belong to him, and he to her. Imagining the sound of her voice, of her laughter, ringing through the halls of the castle in Gwaren, he longed to return there with her at his side.

In spite of the guilt he felt about the wife he abandoned there, he loved Gwaren. The place meant so many things to him. It was the site of more than one triumph during the Rebellion, and the first and only land that truly belonged to him. During those few years when he lived there almost exclusively, the place had wormed its way under his skin. It was his home, in a way no other place had been after his mother died, and Loghain and his father left the family's farm.

His mother's face came into his mind, blurred now, after the passage of so many years, little more than dark hair and blue eyes. No. He didn't want to think about her. Not now. As much as he had loved his mother, her death had been his first lesson in the ways love brought more pain than it eased. A lesson his father's death a few years later reinforced. Later still, he had made what he considered both the best decision and the biggest mistake of his life, and given his heart to a woman he knew could never truly be his. And when that ended, he was so miserable he swore never again to put himself through such an ordeal. Love cost too much, and hurt too much when it ended. But then Celia came, with her soft eyes and her gentle voice, and for a short while, he believed it would work.

Until Deirdre died, and everything fell apart, and he hadn't known how to put it back together.

After Celia's death, Loghain decided he would never marry again. He had no desire to put himself, or a woman he cared about, through that sort of heartache. Maric insisted - repeatedly and vocally – that Loghain was an idiot, an unrelentingly stubborn fool. But at the core, it wasn't stubbornness.

It was fear.

In the dead of night, even as he wished there was someone at his side - someone warm and solid, someone he could pull into his arms, someone who wanted to hold him, and be held by him - Loghain was afraid. Afraid losing one more person he loved would be more than he could bear.

So he suffered this loneliness in silence. Perhaps it was a high price to pay, but it brought peace of mind. He would never again be forced to mourn someone he cared about, as he had mourned too many others in the past.

Could he find his way back from that place now? Did he even want to try? Taking a wife, taking Rhianna as his wife, flew in the face of everything he had believed about himself for a very long time. Yes, he toyed with the idea while he was at sea, when he held her letters in his hand, imagined her voice in his head as he read them again and again. But even then, a voice in the back of his mind had whispered that the idea was nothing more than an idle fantasy, one he had no intention of genuinely pursuing.

But now? She was grown, and he could no longer pretend he hadn't noticed. And he cared about her, he wouldn't even try to deny that.

Perhaps Rhianna could give him a new life. Children. A real home again. But how could he convince himself he deserved such a thing? And he was by no means certain it would be the right thing, not for him nor for Rhianna. No matter how much he cared for her, he had no way of knowing whether or not it would be enough. Whether he could make her happy. And Rhianna deserved to be happy. She deserved much, much better than a man as broken and warped as Loghain had been by the end of the Rebellion.

But . . .

What if he could make her happy? She enjoyed his company, that much was clear, else she would have stopped seeking him out years ago. Perhaps there was a chance being with him was what she wanted. A chance he could offer her a life that would make her happy.

What he needed was time. Time to think through all the implications, to decide what he wanted, and to try and discover what she truly wanted.

And he certainly couldn't justify having sex with the girl if he didn't intend to marry her.

So, he needed to find some way of cooling the desire in his blood, and take care not to encourage her in any way. Not until he'd decided one way or the other what he intended to do.

For the moment, it was enough he was back in control of himself, after an extremely troubling moment of weakness. Now, the sun's warmth beating down on him was calming, and it was restful to watch Rhianna sleep, in spite of the conflicted feelings raging inside him.

"Haruph." Dane fixed his dark, mournful eyes on Loghain.

_You should be her mate. What are you waiting for?_

Loghain chuckled. "Don't rush me, friend. I'm doing my best."

Dane narrowed his eyes, and huffed again. Then he made a show of sniffing the air once . . . twice . . .

"I'm fairly certain we ate all of the lunch." Loghain lifted a brow. He knew very well what the dog wanted, but wasn't ready to indulge him just yet. "If I remember correctly, you ate somewhat more than your fair share."

Dane sniffed the air again. "Harrrph."

"I had a mabari once, you know. Adalla was her name. We found her in the wood shed one night, and as soon as she and I saw one another . . . well, I suppose you could say it was love at first sight. She was just a pup then. Well, frankly, so was I, not yet three years old at the time. We never did figure out where she came from, but my mother called her a 'gift from the Maker.' And she was . . . she really was." In his mind, he saw his hound bounding toward him through the yard, causing the chickens to scatter in her wake.

Loghain chuckled. "She was beautiful; she had a lovely chestnut brown coat, and the most intelligent, understanding eyes. You would have liked her."

Dane wagged his stubby tail.

"Anyway, Adalla and I grew up together. She never left my side, not once. Ten years we had her, before she was taken away . . ." Loghain's voice trailed off. Perhaps he should not have begun telling this story. It didn't have the happiest ending.

Dane cocked his head, and whined softly.

"Another time perhaps. Here," Loghain reached into the basket, and pulled out a small wedge of cheese he'd put aside as a treat for the dog. Dane took it gently between his teeth, but instead of eating it, he dropped it down onto his front paws. Then, he stared up at Loghain.

"I used to keep cheese in my pocket for Adalla. I think the rinds were her favorite part."

Still, Dane watched Loghain, ignoring the cheese.

"Well, go on . . . eat it. Or, don't, whichever you prefer. Either way, stop staring at me like that."

"Hummph." Apparently, the hound wanted to hear the rest of the story.

"Oh, very well." Loghain ran a hand through his hair before continuing, "Adalla was . . . taken from us. This was when Orlais still ruled, and it was an Orlesian lordling who took her. He wanted to mix the blood of our noble mabari with their frail, wasp-waisted game hounds, creatures bred for looks, not intelligence. I tried to keep her, of course. I would have fought, I would have done anything, but my mother stopped me. I was so angry with her at the time, but looking back, I'm sure she was right. There was little I could have done to stop the Orlesians from taking her - I wasn't even a man yet. And if I'd fought, it would have only brought more trouble."

The memory of that day paraded through his mind. The lord, his curled wig slightly crooked, a fleck of spittle on his lips as he cursed at Loghain in Orlesian. Adalla, hunched and growling as a footman forced a leash around her neck. Loghain's tears as his mother held him firmly by the shoulders, keeping him from running after the cart as Adalla was hauled away.

"You can imagine - probably better than I can - what it was like for her, being torn away from the boy, from the family, she was bonded to."

Dane lowered his head, and gave a long, low whine.

Loghain turned, staring out over the water as he finished the story. "It was six months before we saw her again, when the Orlesian returned her. And when I say 'returned' I mean pushed her out of his wagon, without even pulling to a stop first. She was skin and bones, carrying scars from where their pronged collars bit into her neck." Heat rose behind his eyes. Maker, it had been a long time since he'd thought about Adalla. He'd wanted to kill someone, anyone, when he saw what they had done to her. He felt that way still.

He continued to gaze across the water, as though the motion of the waves could soothe the pain of these memories. "There wasn't anything we could do for her. My mother tended her wounds as best as she was able, with elfroot poultices and such, but her captors had used her far too . . . strenuously, and Adalla never recovered. She passed away a week later. I always had the feeling she held on just long enough to come home to us. To say goodbye. I held her head in my lap, and I believe she died happy."

Dane whined, and Loghain turned back toward him, surprised to see Rhianna sitting up, tears streaming down her face.

"Rhianna . . . I . . . I'm sorry," Loghain said. "I thought you were asleep. I . . ."

"Don't apologize," she said, wiping at her eyes. "I wasn't asleep. I was just listening to the story, and . . . How could they do that to her? How could anyone do that to an innocent creature?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "The Orlesians - at least the ones who came to Ferelden - seemed to have a talent for cruelty." He let out a breath. "Not that they have a monopoly on it, by any means. But they did seem to enjoy it a great deal. I always thought the lord who took Adalla treated her so badly not just because he didn't care about her wellbeing, but also as a way of punishing my family, for the crime of being Fereldan."

Rhianna put her hand over her mouth and sobbed, just once. "Maker. No wonder you hate them." She reached down, wrapping her arms around Dane's neck. She didn't say anything, but it wasn't difficult to guess what she was thinking: she would never allow anything like that to happen to Dane.

"Things are different now, Rhianna," he murmured. "The Orlesians are gone, and they won't be returning. Not as long as there is breath in my body, anyway."

"I know."

She meant that. He could see she truly meant it. But the thought of anyone hurting her, of anything bad happening to Rhianna or anyone she loved, filled him with rage, and with the desire to protect her and the things she loved. To keep her safe, as he had failed to keep others he loved safe in the past. That, perhaps, was one thing he could give her. He could marry her, and for the rest of his life do everything in his power to make certain no one and nothing ever harmed Rhianna again.

Dane huffed at Loghain, in thanks both for the story and the cheese, and in sympathy for the friend he lost all those years ago. Then, the hound finally began to eat the bit of cheese Loghain had given him.

"I think my clothes are mostly dry now," Rhianna said. "Perhaps we should head back toward the castle. I thought we might take a different way home, through the forest, rather than the coast road. For a change of scenery. Does that sound good to you?"

"That sounds perfect."

They packed the remains of their picnic, and headed back toward Highever by way of the Teyrn's Forest.

•o•

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•o•

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•o•

_Thank you so much to my fabulous beta, Psyche Sinclair, as well as to all my reviewers: Purplechaos3214, DjinnieGenie, KrystylSky, Milly-finalfantasy, GLCW2, Arsinoe De Blassenville, Artwo.D2, Psyche Sinclair and a Guest. __I can't tell you how much I appreciate your encouragement and support._

_You can hear "Rhianna" singing "Through the Denerim Fair" by following the "Extras" link on my profile, and going to my master list of Dragon Age songs._


	48. Anything you ask of me

_**7 Solace, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Near Highever**_

•o•

The Teyrn's Forest was a lush woodland, one Rhianna knew intimately. She loved the place, with its stands of ancient oaks, even older ash and beech trees, and fir trees that towered over all else in the forest. Groves of ferns covered the ground, a seemingly endless sea of green punctuated by colorful wildflowers: purple foxglove, clusters of tiny white yarrow flowers, cheerful yellow celandine. There were mushrooms as well, red amanitas, tan-colored king boletes (which are edible) and lilac brown boletes (which most assuredly are not).

There was a road through the woods, but Rhianna led them a different way, not bothering to follow any actual path. Instead, she found a route just wide enough for the horses to pass, between stands of trees and through small streams, over hills or around them. It was a longer ride than was strictly necessary, but she wanted to show Loghain the prettiest parts of the forest in all its quiet majesty.

When they had ridden not quite an hour, Rhianna heard something to the west. She pulled Faolan to a halt.

"Did you hear that?"

"No," Loghain replied. "I didn't hear anything."

They sat still, waiting and listening.

There it was again. A hollow, moaning sound.

The sound of an animal in pain.

"That time, I heard it," Loghain said.

Leaving the horses behind, Rhianna, Loghain and Dane set out on foot in the direction of the sound. They soon found its source: a bear cub with its foot caught in a steel claw trap.

"Maker's balls," Rhianna swore. "What in the world is that thing doing here?" She turned to Loghain. "This land belongs to Father, and he doesn't allow trapping. Not like this. Not ever."

Slowly, Rhianna approached the cub, reaching out to place her hand on its muzzle. The young bear whined at her, and she sent soothing thoughts to him, promising to help. As she knelt beside him to remove the trap, she heard snapping twigs and branches nearby, as something large moved through the trees at the edge of the clearing.

Dane barked a warning, and Loghain shouted, "Rhianna, get back!"

Rhianna climbed to her feet as the cub's mother approached. She was a huge black bear, one of the biggest Rhianna had ever seen, and the animal crossed the clearing with surprising speed before raising up on her back legs and roaring.

Switching the soothing thoughts from the cub to his mother, Rhianna stood her ground without flinching. The mother bear dropped back onto four feet. Rhianna stretched out her arm and took slow steps toward the female bear.

"Rhianna, don't!" She heard Loghain's sword slipping from its sheath.

"It's all right," Rhianna assured him, glancing back at him before taking another step. Rhianna's hand hovered just above the bear's muzzle. "She's angry, but not at us. She knows we didn't do this, and I'm making sure she understands we're going to help. Although it is going to hurt him when I open the trap."

Rhianna rested her hand on the bridge of the bear's nose; the bear raised her head in return, pushing into the girl's palm. Then, the huge creature shuffled backwards a few steps, and inclined her head, giving Rhianna permission to do what she needed to do.

Kneeling beside the cub, Rhianna pulled at the pins on the sides, unlocking the mechanism, and then carefully pulled the jaws of the trap apart. The cub barked in pain, eliciting a growl from his mother, but it only took a moment to free his foot from the trap.

Tossing the ugly metal contraption to one side, Rhianna lifted the cub's foot in her hands, turning it gently to look at the damage.

"I don't think any bones are broken," she said. "I will need a poultice, though." She turned to Loghain. "Will you get one from my saddlebag?"

"I don't think I should leave you alone here," he frowned, glancing at the female bear.

"I'll be fine. I promise," Rhianna reassured. "Please?"

Loghain glanced at Dane, clearly a request to make sure the dog kept careful watch, and then backed out of the clearing, keeping his eyes on the bear as long as possible.

When he returned, he approached slowly. When he was about ten feet away from Rhianna and the cub, the mother made a grumbling sound, raising herself tentatively on her back legs.

"It's all right," Rhianna soothed, her words meant for Loghain and the female bear in equal measure. She stood and retrieved the poultice from Loghain.

"Thank you."

He nodded, then retreated to the edge of the clearing. The female dropped back onto all fours, seeming to relax.

Within minutes, Rhianna covered the cub's wounds with healing salve, and wrapped his foot in a bandage, tying it off in a knot designed to come loose in just a few days. With a quick kiss goodbye on the top of his head, Rhianna patted the cub's flank, urging him back to his mother. Again, the female reared up on her hind legs, this time not out of anger, but in a display of thanks.

When the bears left the clearing, moving deeper into the forest, Rhianna retrieved the trap from where she had left it on the ground.

"That was . . . unsettling," Loghain said. "I thought the mother was going to attack you."

"No. Well, that was her first thought perhaps, but I was never in any real danger. She knew I wasn't responsible for what happened to her baby." She looked at the claw trap in her hands. "This, on the other hand, has me far more worried."

Loghain took the trap from her, turning it around in his hands.

Rhianna continued, "I've never seen a trap quite like this before, which makes me think it was not locally made; probably set by someone new to the area. Well, it would have to be. Anyone who lives in Highever knows trapping is absolutely not allowed in this forest, or on any of the lands belonging to my father.

"I need to know who put it here. And I need to find any others they may have set, before someone else gets hurt like that poor cub. Another animal, or, Maker forbid, any person who might stumble upon a trap."

"Poachers are often desperate, and dangerous," Loghain said. "I suggest instead of searching right now, we return tomorrow with a party of armed soldiers."

"That's reasonable," Rhianna agreed. "But we can at least keep our eyes open for more traps along the way, can't we? We're only a couple of hours' ride from the city. I can't imagine a band of poachers would be stupid enough to set up camp quite so close to Highever."

"Of course. I see no harm in looking for traps along the way."

•o•o•o•o•o•

Before they set out again, Rhianna retrieved the longsword from her pack, and strapped it on her back. They made their way to an actual path through the forest; it seemed safer for the horses than traveling through the woods themselves. Then they rode at a slow pace, in order to look for signs of disturbance.

After only a few minutes, Rhianna spotted a trail made by someone's recent passage. Hopping off her horse, she followed it, and returned with a second claw trap in her hands. She strapped it to the back of her saddle, and they continued on.

Another few minutes, and this time Loghain was the one to spot the trampled-down path. Sure enough, yet another trap.

"Maker's blood," Rhianna swore. "How many of these damned things are out here?"

It wasn't long before Rhianna dismounted again. This time, the trap was only a few yards off the path, and knelt to disarm it. As she pulled at the pins, a snapping of leaves and twigs underfoot sounded nearby, as a man approached from the opposite side of the clearing.

He was of medium height, with unkempt brown hair and a thin, short beard. His face was dirt-stained, and an angry scar, red and ragged, crossed one cheek. His leather armor looked in great need of repair, and he carried a longsword, drawn and ready.

Rhianna got to her feet, unsheathing both her sword and the dagger tucked into her boot. Behind her, Loghain dismounted and drew his weapon as well, coming to stand to her right. On her left, Dane stood, his teeth bared menacingly.

"Well, well, well," the man said, stopping just out of swords' reach of Rhianna. He glanced at Loghain, then turned his attention back to the girl. "What do we have here? Looks like someone doesn't know not to tamper with things that don't belong to her."

"This trap belongs to you, then?" Rhianna asked.

"It does." He smiled nastily.

"Well, you can't use it here." If she was frightened, it did not show in her voice.

Should Loghain intervene? The man seemed not to feel threatened, in spite of being outnumbered. And had, for some reason, chosen to address Rhianna, which meant he might be someone she knew from the village. And, of course, she was the one tampering with his trap.

Loghain decided to remain quiet, and let things develop as they would for the moment. Let Rhianna do the talking. If it came to an actual fight, Loghain was close enough to get between her and the poacher before the man had time to strike.

"And who says I can't?" the man asked.

"This forest, all of it, belongs to the Teyrn of Highever," Rhianna explained. "People are welcome to hunt, as long as you report what you take to the seneschal at the castle. But the teyrn doesn't allow trapping. Not ever. So these things," she poked at the trap with her boot, "need to go."

"And I suppose you think I'm just going to do as you tell me?" Glancing again at Loghain, he gestured with his free hand. "That's not quite how things are going to go here, love."

Five men and a woman stepped out of the shadows. One of the men strode right up to Rhianna, standing beside the one who had spoken, and the others formed a rough arc behind them. Dane crouched low, straining slightly toward to man closest to Rhianna, a growl originating deep in his throat. The horses stamped their feet, both at the intrusion and at the tension they could sense in their riders.

"You wanna call that dog off, love," the new man said casually, looking at Rhianna through heavy-lidded, dark eyes. He, too, was filthy, wearing armor nearly in tatters. He carried a dagger in each hand, and when he smiled at her, a smile meant to threaten, there were gaps where he was missing teeth.

Loghain tightened the grip on his sword. This changed the odds significantly, and in the wrong direction.

At least they weren't particularly well equipped. The newcomers were armored, all but one of them wearing leather that had seen better days. Only the unusually tall man standing closest to Loghain wore chain mail, certainly better than the leathers worn by the others, but still in sad disrepair. Their weapons were of equally poor quality.

Poachers, and not particularly successful ones. Or perhaps they'd just had a run of bad luck. Well, that much was obvious. There could be no other explanation for setting up within shouting distance of Highever, thinking they could get away with trapping on the teyrn's own lands. It would have been smarter to move to the other side of the hills.

Deciding they were stupid, however, did not ease Loghain's mind. Stupid people were often more dangerous than clever ones. And seven to three were difficult odds, especially when neither he nor Rhianna were wearing armor. Rhianna knew how to fight, and Loghain trusted her training would kick in if the poachers did attack. But if she was hit even once . . .

That could be bad. Very bad.

Loghain's chances of withstanding a few blows were better, but even so, he would have to avoid making any stupid mistakes.

He thought through the best way this could go. If Loghain could get close enough, no doubt he could dispatch at least two of them quickly, preferably the man in chain and the man who had first approached; he seemed to be the leader. Dane would leap at the throat of whichever man went for Rhianna first, giving her some time to prepare her own attack. She had an advantage not only in being skilled with her weapons, but also because their attackers would almost certainly underestimate her; she hardly looked like a warrior at first glance. If any of the poachers came close enough to Aeran, the horse would happily kick that person to death. Faolan had not been trained to attack, but if any horse had a natural instinct for fighting, it would be no surprise to find it in Rhianna's destrier.

Perhaps the odds weren't quite as bad as they first seemed. Even so, it wouldn't do to become over-confident.

And there was still a chance Rhianna could talk her way out of this, as long as she didn't tell them who she was. If she gave her name, there was no way they'd get out of fighting. Even idiotic poachers would see the potential fortune to be made in capturing and ransoming back the teyrn's daughter.

"My dog isn't a problem," Rhianna replied, "so long as you keep your distance. All I'm asking is for you to take your traps, and leave this forest. It's that simple."

The first man took a step towards Rhianna, raising his sword just a bit in an implied threat. Dane growled and crouched, ready to spring if the man came any closer.

"And just who do you think you are, telling us what to do?"

"I'm in the service of Teyrn Bryce Cousland. A member of the Highever Regulars."

Thank the Maker, she hadn't given her name. And what she'd said was the truth, if not the whole truth.

"You're in the Highland Regulars?" The man with the daggers threw back his head and laughed. "What, they take little girls now? That's pathetic, that is. Your teyrn must be hard on his luck."

Rhianna's back stiffened. "Don't let my age fool you. I know how to use this." She twirled her longsword twice, an impressive maneuver. Both men who had spoken stepped back. "Now, I'm going to explain this one more time. You will not be permitted to continue trapping in this forest. There are two ways we can do this. The easy way, in which you agree to take your traps and leave. Or, the hard way, which involves fighting, and imprisonment for any of you who might happen to survive."

A bluff, but she'd sold it well. Loghain felt a surge of pride for the way she was handling the situation.

Unfortunately, well-sold bluff or not, the poachers had clearly decided the odds were in their favor.

"The hard way?" the first man sneered. "I've got something hard for you, _love_." He laughed, a harsh humorless sound as he thrust his hips once in her direction, and the others chuckled behind him. "Fighting and imprisonment?" he said in a high voice meant to mock Rhianna's. "I don't think so." He gestured to two of the poachers standing behind him. "Secure the horses," he said. "Kill the man and the dog," he said calmly. "But I want her alive. I'll show the little bitch 'fighting and imprisonment.'"

So, a fight it would be. As Loghain readied himself, adjusting his balance, bending slightly at the knees, he was hit by a wave of regret.

Regret he had not made love to Rhianna on the beach that afternoon. If he died here, if these filthy bastards managed to kill him, he would have given everything to know Rhianna's first and only experience would not be at the hands of these poachers. That before they raped and killed her she had known the touch of loving hands. Of soft words. Of someone who cared for her pleasure more than he cared for his own.

His stomach lurched and the words of a prayer stumbled through his head.

_I'll do anything, anything you ask of me, Andraste. Just please give me the strength to keep her safe. Maker, give me the strength I did not have last time. I will do anything, please, if anyone is listening, I swear, I will not allow anything to harm this girl. Not while there is breath in my body to stop it. Just give me the strength._

Whatever happened next, if the worst happened here today, the only way any of them would touch Rhianna was over Loghain's dead body.

But the next thought that went through his head caused nothing but shame. Shame at how grateful he was that this time, if the worst did happen, he wouldn't be required to watch.

Loghain turned his attention to the two men approaching him, their weapons drawn. He would attack hard, and fast, and get this over with as quickly as possible.

•o•o•o•o•o•

The two men stood in front of her, gripping their weapons and grinning: the man who had first approached, and his dagger-wielding friend. Rhianna crouched low, her body responding instinctually to hundreds of hours spent on the practice field.

For one fleeting moment, thoughts ran through her head. Disbelief this was happening, that she would have to fight, not for fun or to win in a tournament, but for her life, and for the lives of her two companions. That these people wanted to hurt her, wanted to do things to her body she could barely imagine. Fear, a feeling approaching terror, really. But also the comfort of knowing Loghain was with her, and Dane, and they would fight to the death to defend her, as she would do for them.

_Andraste, please help me keep us all safe. Loghain, Dane, myself, all of us. Please, Andraste. Please._

The man with the daggers lunged at Rhianna, and all thoughts were driven from her mind.

Leaping backwards, she easily avoided his strike. Before he was able to recover from making the attack, Dane pounced. With his two huge front paws, Dane knocked the man onto his back. His teeth sank into the man's exposed throat, powerful jaws crushing and tearing the soft flesh.

With a gurgled scream, the man stabbed at the mabari, but his neck had already been ripped apart. Bubbles of bloody air popped grotesquely from the broken windpipe, and his flailing arms made only a few insignificant wounds on the dog's back and flank.

The man to Dane's left kicked at the dog with his boot. Dane turned, and sprang out of the way of the man's axe. Then the hound crouched, snarling, ready to lunge.

On Rhianna's other side, Loghain let out a war cry, but she forced herself to ignore everything but the man who had first spoken to her. He began to circle, brandishing his longsword. His movements were somewhat erratic, his steps uneven, as though he were overly excited, and his balance was not entirely steady.

She crouched, watching for a sign he was going to attack. He inhaled deeply, then lunged. She dodged, and slammed into him with her shoulder. Her weight wasn't enough, however, to knock him off his feet, even with his poor balance. He stayed standing, crouching slightly and smiling.

"You're going to have to do better than that, love." His shoulders tensed, then he ran at her again, sweeping downward with the longsword.

She was ready for the blow, parrying it easily as she shifted to the left. They circled, again, as she watched carefully for him to give away his next attack.

Again, his shoulders tense, and again he lunged. Rhianna stepped back, not far, just enough to be barely out of reach of his sword. He pushed forward, trying to hit her, overextending his arms in the process and throwing himself off balance. When she knocked his sword out of the way with her sword, his momentum drove him forward. Stabbing upward with her dagger, she angled the blade into a gap in the man's shoddy armor. After a split second of resistance, the dagger slid smoothly into his belly, all the way to the hilt.

He grunted in pain as his eyes grew wide. Surprised, Rhianna pulled her arm back, and hot blood gushed from the wound and over her hand. He reached out, grabbing for her shoulders, his gazed locked onto hers. His legs failed to hold his weight, and he sagged forward, the dagger pushing up inside him again. He coughed, and flecks of blood sprayed from his mouth. Then he fell to his knees, pulling Rhianna to the ground with him.

Landing on her knees, she pushed him away with her shoulder. She yanked the dagger from his body and he fell backward, his head meeting the forest floor with a thud. He clutched at her arm, and she batted his hand away, staring as the blood flowed from his wound, pooling on the grass beneath him.

Shaking her head once to clear it, she got back onto her feet.

A clash of metal sounded to her right, and she turned to see Loghain slash open the throat of his opponent. To her left, Dane barked furiously; the man he was fighting had turned and run off into the forest. Someone moaned at ground level behind her.

She looked around; there was no one left to fight. All the poachers were dead or dying, except the one who had run away, and another, the woman, who lay on the ground in an awkward heap near Faolan. This woman was the source of the moaning.

Dane huffed at Rhianna, asking if he should give chase.

"No. Let's stay together."

It appeared the man had a bloody wound in his leg from Dane's teeth, and probably wouldn't make it far anyway.

•o•o•o•o•o•

In a spray of blood, the man Loghain was facing collapsed to the ground. Loghain glanced around the clearing, bending his knees in anticipation of engaging his next opponent. But no one was left standing to fight. The poachers had all been defeated.

He moved toward Rhianna, who stood over the corpses of the two men who had threatened her.

She turned as he approached, and the breath left his body as though he had been punched in the gut. Rhianna was covered in blood: spatters across her face and chest, and a huge stain across her left hip.

Was she injured? Had one of those bastards stabbed her? They were still hours away from the castle, and from the Highever court mage. All they had were poultices, in the saddlebags. That would have to be enough.

_Please, Andraste, please, don't let it be so bad she needs a healer. Not this far from the castle. Please. _

Loghain rushed to her and pulled at her shirt, freeing it from her trousers to examine the skin underneath. He saw no wound, but perhaps she had been injured lower down, on her hip or her thigh . . .

"It's not my blood," she whispered, grasping his arm as if to steady herself. He stopped fumbling with her clothing, and looked into her face. "I'm all right. It's not my blood."

He studied her face, and then looked down. Her left hand clutched the dagger he had given her years before; hand and weapon were both covered in blood. Loghain glanced at the poacher nearest on the ground; there was a seeping wound in the man's belly.

Thank the Maker. She wasn't injured. Rhianna had killed the man before he could hurt her.

She wasn't injured.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment. _Thank you, Andraste. _

Loghain opened his eyes and grasped her shoulders. Rhianna blinked at him, as if she were confused about something. Then her face changed color, first going pale, and then a sickly, sallow color, as it had the night of Anora's wedding.

Rhianna looked at the man she had killed, and then the blood covering her hand. She pulled way from Loghain, lurching to one side and dropping to her knees. A spasm ran through her body as the contents of her stomach landed on the forest floor. Coughing, she began to wipe the back of her left hand across her mouth, but when her hand made contact with the skin on her face, she shrieked, and pulled it away. She retched again, and then whimpered softly, shaking her hand frantically as if to rid it of the blood.

Loghain crouched beside her, pulling her into his arms.

"It's all right, Rhianna," he murmured. "Everything is going to be all right."

"He's d-dead, isn't he?"

"Yes, he's dead. They're all dead. They can't hurt you."

"Oh, Maker," she moaned. "He's dead. I . . . k-killed him."

Oh.

Of course.

Rhianna had years of weapons training, and could take down game as well as anyone he knew, even though she hated doing it. She had fought at his side against the werewolves, and thrown her dagger at a Qunari assassin.

But this was the first time she had taken a human life.

Her breath came quickly, as she stared at the dead man.

Loghain pulled her close against his chest. "You did what you had to do. They attacked us. They would have killed you."

"Not right away," she whispered, her voice stronger than it had been a moment earlier. "They would have raped me first. Wouldn't they?"

Loghain didn't answer; he merely held her more tightly in his arms. Leaning against him, she put her head on his shoulder. Surprisingly, no tears came. Instead, she clung to him until her breathing returned to normal. Then she reached up and ran her hand along his cheek.

"You weren't hurt, were you?" Her face was only inches from his; there were tiny drops of blood on her forehead, and stretching across the bridge of her nose.

"No, I'm fine."

She pushed herself to her feet, and then offered Loghain a hand. She frowned at the bloodstain on his arm, where he'd been slashed by someone's sword, probably the man wearing chain-mail.

"What do you mean, you're 'fine?' What do you call that?" Gingerly, she pulled open the tear in his shirt to get a look at the injury beneath.

"It's nothing. Believe me. I can't even feel it."

"Hmmh. Be that as it may, let's get a poultice on it. And on these as well," she indicated the few shallow cuts on Dane's back and flank, none of which looked particularly serious.

She looked around the clearing, and Loghain followed her gaze, taking inventory of the poachers who now lay scattered on the ground. Nearby were the two who threatened Rhianna, one dead by her dagger, and another with his throat torn out by the hound. The man in chainmail was the first to die by Loghain's blade, and nearby lay the fighter whose throat Loghain had slit. Across the clearing, another man lay motionless; Aeran had apparently used his hind legs to kick the man up against a tree, hard enough to kill him. The sixth man had fled, after being attacked by Dane. Which left only one poacher unaccounted for.

A moan from the opposite side of the clearing got their attention. The woman who had been sent to secure the horses lay in a heap on the ground, her injuries suggesting she had been trampled by Faolan.

"We should probably do something to bandage her up," Rhianna sighed. "Not that I really care if she dies on the way back to Highever."

"I'll see to her," Loghain offered. "You should . . . wash up. As much as possible." Rhianna had drops of blood spattered across her face, as well as a bold streak where she had started wiping her mouth with her bloody hand. And of course, that hand was also covered in blood. There was nothing to be done about her clothing; that much blood would never be washed out of the shirt, and certainly not with the resources they had at hand. But if she could get the blood off her skin, her parents were less likely to have fits when they saw their daughter arrive home from what was supposed to have been a pleasant day at the beach.

"And then we should get back to the castle as soon as possible," he suggested. "In case there are more of those bastards camped nearby."

"Something will need to be done about him," Rhianna said. "The one that ran away, I mean. And any other poachers out there, as well as all their traps. Will you come back with me tomorrow? Along with some of my unit? Help me make sure these poachers won't be a problem ever again?"

She intended to see this thing through herself? Good on her. She could just as easily have asked her father to send out a party of Regulars without her. After what had happened today, no one would have blamed her. But she wanted to see it through.

Loghain smiled. "I'll be more than happy to come back with you tomorrow."

Soon they were mounted once again. Rhianna's skin was clean, Loghain and Dane had salve applied to their wounds, and the injured poacher was slung across the front of Loghain's horse. Loghain had bandaged her up enough she wasn't in danger of dying. He hadn't, however, been particularly concerned about her comfort, and if she moaned occasionally when Aeran came down a bit hard on his feet, Loghain wasn't inclined to care. All things considered.

Riding slowly, aware of the danger posed by whatever claw traps might yet remain, they rode back to Highever as the sun set in the west.

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Thank you so much to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair (who has been reading chapter after chapter the past week, so I can build up a backlog for posting during the semester that is about to start). Also thank you to my marvelous reviewers: Artwo.D2, Psyche Sinclair, Hannahhobnob, DjinniGenie, Serena R. Snape, KatDancer2, KrystylSky, Kateskates24, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Mialiah, GLCW2, Hugs4Every1 and Shadowfang.

Also, if any of you are interested, I have a few invites for Archive of Our Own. Don't worry; I will always post my story here, as well, but if you're interested in having an AO3 account, let me know, and I'll be happy to give away invite codes until I run out. Just drop me a message with your email address to heretherebdragons at yahoo dot com.


	49. What would you have said?

**TRIGGER WARNING**: Please scroll to the bottom for details about potentially triggering content in this chapter.

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_**8 Solace, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Highever Castle**_

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Loghain couldn't sleep.

Even though it was well after midnight, his mind was filled with snatches of conversation and images of an alarmingly eventful day. Given what happened at the beach, and later in the forest, Loghain would be lucky to sleep at all tonight.

Some of the memories he wanted to savor: how beautiful Rhianna looked at the beach, singing her ghost song; the feel of her body beneath his as they lay in the sand; his pride at the way she spoke, unflinching, to the poachers. And there were memories he would rather not dwell upon: the dread he felt before the battle; Rhianna retching in the forest; the sight of her clothes soaked through with blood.

That had been a sight her parents, too, would likely not soon forget. When Rhianna and Loghain arrived back at the castle, a wounded poacher in tow, there were several minutes of chaos as Rhianna worked to reassure Bryce and Eleanor she wasn't injured at all, that the blood had come from a poacher.

Of course, the knowledge their daughter had stabbed the man to death didn't do much to improve their moods.

The prisoner, once she realized she wasn't in imminent danger of having her throat slit, had been surprisingly forthcoming with information about the little band of poachers working the Teyrn's Forest. They'd arrived in the Coastlands less than a month ago, after a run-in with angry villagers in the Bannorn, hoping to find a quiet place to do some trapping and then sell the furs, enough to see them through the winter. In addition to the seven in the clearing, there were four others, but they were likely to have cleared out long before Rhianna could return with a party of Regulars to roust them.

Bryce and Eleanor both balked, at first, at Rhianna's request to lead a party back to the forest the next day. She made a good case for herself, though: she knew where to start looking, and she would have plenty of protection. She intended to take eight of the Regulars in her unit, in addition to Loghain, who had agreed to be "conscripted." Considering they weren't likely to encounter any poachers at all, based on the prisoner's account, Bryce relented, and agreed Rhianna could lead the party.

Of course, all this excitement had forced Loghain to postpone the tentative plan he had formed back at the beach. To speak to Rhianna after supper, and depending on what she said, approach her parents. About an arrangement.

As the evening progressed, Loghain believed it was for the best the subject hadn't come up. Bryce seemed to hold Loghain responsible for the trouble they had in the forest. Not that he said as much, but Loghain could see it in the man's eyes. It didn't make any logical sense, but it was understandable to a certain degree. After all, Loghain had failed to protect Rhianna from going into combat. Whether or not she had trained for this for years and years, it was still not something any father wanted his child to face.

And perhaps all this - the trouble with the poachers - was some sort of a sign from the Maker, a sign he wasn't supposed to marry the girl.

Then again, when he remembered how panicked he felt at the possibility of Rhianna being hurt, how hard he fought to protect her . . .

Perhaps it meant just the opposite. Something had burned inside him, so much he had sworn an oath to the Maker and Andraste and any other gods who cared to listen. An oath he would never allow harm to come to her, not if it was in his power to stop. If that wasn't an indication of his true feelings . . .

Annoyed, he pushed those thoughts aside. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. Far too exhausted to ponder questions like this in the middle of the night. He sat at the desk in his bedchamber, rubbing an itch on the bridge of his nose. Just how long would it take the nervousness and excitement in his blood to run down down, and allow him to feel sleepy?

He poured himself a glass of brandy, and threw it back. Then, he blew out the candle, leaving only a faint glow from the moon outside to illuminate the room.

Just as he was about to kick off his slippers and slide under the bedclothes, a knock sounded at the door to his room.

Five soft taps, so quiet he barely heard them. He crossed the room and pulled open the door.

Rhianna stood in the hallway, wearing a white nightgown reaching almost to the ground, her face so pale it seemed to glow. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and her feet were bare, which was ridiculous on the cold stone floors of the castle. Her eyes looked black in the dimly lit hall, and for a moment he was reminded of the "ghost" in her song that afternoon.

_I dreamt it last night, that my true love came in_.

This was no ghost, however, but a flesh and blood woman.

"May I come in?"

Loghain stepped back, holding open the door to allow her to enter. After closing it behind her, he turned to see her eyes taking in his attire: a bed shirt that hung just below his knees, and a pair of leather house shoes on his feet.

She bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry, I . . . I hope I didn't wake you."

"No, I wasn't sleeping."

Before he could suggest she feel free to sit down, she crossed the room and settled herself on the bench in the alcove in front of the window. With her back against the window, she brought her legs up, wrapping her arms around them so only her toes stuck out from beneath her gown.

Returning to his chair at the desk, he sat. Perhaps he should relight the candle . . . but no. Her mood seemed troubled, and if she wanted to talk about what happened earlier in the day, she might have an easier time confessing her feelings in the darkness.

"I couldn't sleep." She turned her head to look out the window. "I tried, but every time I close my eyes, I see his face."

Ah. This was about the poacher.

She put her face in her hands, and for a moment he thought she had begun to cry, but when she looked up again, clasping her hands atop her knees, her eyes were dry. Loghain remained silent, giving her time to say what she needed to say.

"He's dead now. He's dead, and it's because of me. Because I . . . killed him. And I know I did the right thing," she nodded as if trying to convince herself. "I know that. Even so, he was alive this morning, and now he isn't. Surely, someone, somewhere cared about him. His mother, his friends. And now he's dead. And I'm the one who took his life. That's a . . . strange feeling."

She glanced at Loghain, and then shrugged, as though she knew she hadn't said anything requiring a response, but she wasn't sure what else to say. "Anyway, I thought I'd come here. To you. To talk to you. I figured you would understand."

Her eyes searched his face, but for what, he wasn't sure. Absolution? Understanding? Forgiveness? Of the three, there was only one he could offer. And the other two she had no need for.

"I do understand. I still remember the first person I ever killed."

"Do you? Was he Orlesian?"

"No. He was Fereldan. The son of a minor noble who had thrown in his lot with the Usurper. When my father and I came to them seeking aid - we were on the run, because my father had 'murdered' a chevalier commander - the boy was going to run and betray us. We'd have been captured and hanged. He couldn't have been more than a year older than I was, but I killed him. With a dagger. Much like your poacher today."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen."

"And you still remember him?"

"Yes."

"Does that . . ." Rhianna began, "does that mean the man I killed today . . . does that mean I'll always remember his face? Always be able to imagine the way he looked as he was dying? The way his eyes got so big, and he spit out blood and he looked up at me as though he couldn't believe what I'd done? He wasn't the only one." She looked down at her hands. "I could hardly believe it myself."

"Yes. You will always remember." He said it simply, casually, as though it were nothing about which to be concerned. And in truth, it wasn't. "What you did today, Rhianna . . . it isn't something to be taken lightly. And I hope you are never forced to take another life. But now you know you can truly defend yourself. And once you grow accustomed to the way this feels, once you get through the . . . shock of it . . . just remember, you did what you had to do, and you did it well. That is not something of which you should be ashamed."

Rhianna caught his gaze, seeming to search his face again as though there were some answer there that was eluding her. Finally, she nodded, slowly.

"I just want to be able to close my eyes and see something other than him." There was a spark of anger in her voice. Good. Better anger than guilt or shame.

"You will, soon enough, I promise. You just need to give it some time."

Picking up the decanter, he poured another glass of brandy, drank it quickly, and refilled the glass. He crossed the room and offered her the glass. She took it from his hand, putting it to her lips for a tentative sip. She coughed once, her nose wrinkling in displeasure, but then she threw her head back to drink the rest in one swallow.

When she handed the glass back to him, her eyes were watering, but she looked satisfied. Calmer. He set down the glass, and then sat across from her on the window seat. There was more she wanted to say; he could sense thoughts just beneath the surface. But for some reason she was hesitating. Just as he opened his mouth to reassure her, she spoke.

"There's something else. Something I don't think anyone else will understand. I don't know if you'll understand, but I thought . . . oh, I don't know. Perhaps I should just go back to my room and . . ."

"What it is Rhianna?" He put a hand on her knee. "You know you can tell me anything. Whatever it is, just say it."

"Well, it's just that I can't stop thinking about . . ." She closed her eyes, and chewed on her lower lip. "Oh, I don't know how to say this. It's . . ." She glanced at him and laughed, a harsh humorless sound. "Andraste's arse! I really don't know how to say it. Please, just give me a minute to explain what I mean."

"Take all the time you need."

She put a hand over her mouth and sobbed, just once, her eyes filling with tears she blinked away. "Oh, Maker. I . . ." She sniffled, breathing heavily through her mouth. "I just never expected to kill somebody. Not ever. Not really. The Occupation is over. We live in a time of peace, because of what you did when you were my age. You, and Father, and King Maric and everyone else.

"So, I never expected to kill anyone. But even if I had thought someday I might, if I ended up defending Highever from bandits, or if chevaliers ever do cross our borders, I never expected it would happen now. Like this." She paused again, sniffling once. "I know I'm not making any sense. It's just . . . I'm not the same now as when I woke up this morning. This morning, I wouldn't have called myself a child, exactly. I'm a bit old for that. But I wasn't a woman, either. And today I took someone's life. How can I think of myself as a child ever again?

"And . . . well, I always thought the thing that would happen, the moment when I knew I was no longer a child . . ." She pushed her hair back from her face. "I always thought that moment would happen the first time I lay with a man." She began to cry now, quiet tears, just a few of them. She sobbed gently into her hand, and he had an urge to take her into his arms, to comfort her, to tell her everything would be all right. But this, perhaps, was something that couldn't be soothed away with soft words.

"This isn't what I wanted," she said, her voice small and unhappy. "I don't want this to be the way I became a woman, with blood on my hands. But it's too late now for anything else. I've never even kissed someone. Not really kissed. More than just on the cheek." She laughed, a harsh, self-deprecating sound. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? To think of it this way? Is it so incredibly stupid?"

"It isn't stupid at all, Rhianna," he murmured. "It was the same for me. I hadn't kissed anyone yet, either, when I killed that noble's son."

Rhianna swallowed, and then opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. She just looked at him in the near darkness, searching his face with her eyes. Then she smiled, letting out a single sound of laughter. "Maker's breath," she swore gently. "You really do understand."

"Yes."

"Thank you," she whispered, hugging her knees more tightly to her chest. Her toes peeked out from underneath her nightgown, and in the moonlight they looked completely white. It was cold in here; her bare feet must be nearly frozen, and he had an urge to warm them between his hands.

"I suppose, though, all this means my plan won't work after all."

Loghain raised a brow. "Your plan?"

She laughed once, and then looked away from him, into a dark corner of the bedroom. "I had thought . . . well . . ." She glanced at him, and then looked away again. "I . . . came here tonight intending to ask you to make love to me." A breath caught in his chest. "I had thought putting a new memory in my head, a beautiful memory, would erase his face, somehow. But that's not how it works, is it?"

A beautiful memory? She thought making love to him would create a "beautiful" memory? Something ached inside him, but he forced himself to focus on what she was saying.

"No," he replied. "That's not how it works." If anything, it might merge the two things together in her memory.

He fell silent. Surely, there was something else he should say, but he didn't know what. He wanted to comfort her, wanted to hold her, but after what she'd just said, he didn't know how to reach across the distance.

Then his hands clenched into fists, as another breath caught in his chest. He was angry. Furious, at those Maker-damned poachers. Furious they had taken Rhianna's innocence, even though she defended herself from the rape they threatened. Furious her childhood had spilled away as that worthless man's blood poured over her hands.

He turned away, not trusting himself to look into her face without letting her see the emotions he was battling. He didn't want to turn the focus onto him, He wanted to let her have her feelings and share them and let them slip away again where they wouldn't hurt her anymore.

"Is it bad that I was afraid?" she asked. "Before the battle, I mean? I wasn't as scared as I would have been if you and Dane hadn't been there with me, but I _was_ scared. More scared, I think, of what they intended to do with me if I lived, than the thought of actually dying."

"There's nothing wrong with being afraid." He looked into her face again. "I was afraid today. More afraid than I've been in . . . years." He hadn't felt so scared since . . . since Rhianna had been missing, locked away in the guard tower, and afterwards, when she was ill with the plague.

"You were afraid? Afraid you might die?"

"Yes. I was afraid I might die before I'd stopped them from hurting you."

Her forehead creased, and her lower lip quivered, slightly, but she said nothing.

Overwhelmed, feeling as though something in his chest might explode, Loghain looked out the window into the darkness, a memory flooding into his mind. Not the memory of what had happened in the clearing that day, but something else. Something from long ago.

A farmhouse, so vivid, perfectly clear.

"When I was thirteen years old, chevaliers came to my family's farm. They accused us of not paying our taxes, which we couldn't pay because they'd been raised to double what they were the year before. It would have taken everything we had, and we still couldn't have come up with enough money to satisfy the local bann. So, the chevaliers came. And told us we needed to be taught a lesson. The chevalier commander ordered my father and I to be restrained."

Loghain closed his eyes, and the memory of that night burst into his vision.

"Father and I were forced to watch while the commander raped my mother."

He heard her sharp intake of breath, but didn't dare look at Rhianna. Not now.

"After he was . . . finished, he slit her throat." Heat rose behind his eyes. "And then he laughed. Said that next year, perhaps we would remember to pay our taxes. That's why we were on the run later, why we had to leave our farm. The man my father was wanted for 'murdering' was that chevalier commander."

"Oh, Loghain," Rhianna whispered. "I had . . . I had no idea. I am so, so sorry."

Now, he looked at her, her eyes shining in the dim light, tears glistening on her cheeks. He forced himself to breath slowly, deeply, to stay calm and not let himself be overcome by all the things he was feeling.

"Today," he murmured, "when I realized we were outnumbered, and not wearing armor, I was scared. Scared we wouldn't be able to win that fight. And the thought of them hurting you, the way they had hurt my mother . . ."

He had to stop, and breathe.

"Yes, Rhianna. I was afraid."

Then, she was at his side, slipping her arms around his waist. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, grateful when she burrowed herself close to his body and rested her forehead against his neck. She shivered through the thin fabric of her gown, and he held her closer, wanting to share his warmth with her.

With Rhianna beside him, he allowed the memory of that night so long ago to play through his mind again. To confront those images, rather than shy away from them. One ragged breath after another, he forced himself to remember, to face what had surely been the single moment in his life that defined him, the moment that shaped him into the person he had become.

A breath.

His mother, her face bloody from being struck, the gleam of torchlight off the bare skin of her legs as she struggled beneath the chevalier commander. The commander's harsh laughter filling the air as Loghain fought against the men who held him, powerless to do anything but watch. His father's rage, until one of the soldiers clubbed him over the head with the end of a sword.

Another breath.

The chevalier commander's face morphed into that of the poacher in the forest, a sneer in his voice as he thrust his hips lewdly at Rhianna.

Another breath.

_Thank you, Andraste. Thank you for protecting her from the tragedy that might have taken place today. Thank you._

_Thank you._

Rhianna clung to him, crying silently, her tears dampening the skin of his neck, each of her breaths matching his own. He pulled her closer.

When his breathing had slowed, returned to normal, when he was no longer consumed by thoughts of what happened in the past, what might have happened today, he lifted a hand to stroke her hair, enjoying the silken feel of it in his fingers. He breathed in her scent, surrendering himself to the sensations of being close to her, of being wrapped around her, of being cradled in her arms.

She had come to him of her own free will. Somehow, unbelievably, she wanted to be here. With him.

_A beautiful memory._

He pressed his lips to the top of her head, then rested his cheek against her hair, and for a while - he had no idea how long they sat together - he allowed himself to enjoy the tangible pleasure of Rhianna's company.

When she finally sat up, untangling herself from his arms, she smiled up at him. A tentative smile, shy, almost.

It was possible her face was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

For the second time that day he yearned to lower his face to hers and kiss her lips. Not from lust, but for the sheer joy of being closer to her, of immersing himself in her. Of loving her.

Instead, he cradled her face in the palm of his hand. He wanted to kiss her, but he would wait. Until the time was right, until he could do this properly.

For a moment, she pressed her face into his hand. Then, she got to her feet, leaving the space beside him cold and empty without her.

"I should go back to my room," she whispered. "Let you get your sleep. Perhaps I'll be able to sleep now, as well."

He stood, and followed her to the door.

As she reached for the handle, she stopped, and turned back to him.

"If I had decided I wanted you to make love to me tonight . . . if I had asked? What would you have said?"

He didn't hesitate in giving his answer. "Yes."

If that had been what she wanted, he would have made love to her. He would have done anything in his power to ease her suffering, to drive from her head the memory of that afternoon. He would have made love to her tonight, and in the morning convinced her parents to let her marry him if that, too, was what she wanted. He would have held her and kissed her and touched her with as much tenderness as he had to offer, and whispered soft words in her ear to make her forget whatever was causing her pain, even for just a few minutes.

"Yes," he repeated. "I would have made love to you."

She smiled then, a smile he sensed was not meant for him, but for herself. A quiet, subtle smile, of happiness or satisfaction. She closed her eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. When she released the breath and opened her eyes, she smiled again, more brightly, and this time it was for him.

Placing her hands on his shoulders, she reached up - no longer on tippy toes - to kiss him, briefly, on the lips.

"Thank you, Loghain," she murmured, and slipped silently out of his room.

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A big thank-you to my marvelous beta, Psyche Sinclair, as well as too all my lovely reviewers: Hugs4Every1, KrystylSky, Serena R. Snape, Tyrannosaurustex, DjinniGenie, GLCW2, Arsinoe de Blassenville, SecretWriter8910, Artwo.D2 and a Guest. There is a dollmaker image of Rhianna for this chapter, which can be found by following the "Extras" link on my profile.

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**TRIGGER WARNING**: Description and memories of a rape and murder that happened in the past.


	50. No distance great enough

_**28 Solace, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Denerim**_

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_"Dear Rhianna, _

_Please let me know when you arrive in Denerim. I should like very much to call on you at your earliest convenience. _

_Yours, _

_LMT"_

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Only a few weeks had passed since Loghain left Highever, but every day that went by without seeing Rhianna was one day too many. Surely, this waiting was nearly at an end; the Landsmeet would begin soon, and no doubt the Couslands would arrive in time to attend the Funalis celebrations two days hence.

It was foolish of him, perhaps, but Loghain wanted to see her as soon as she arrived in the city. Wanted to hear her voice, to watch her eyes light up when she smiled. To pull her into an embrace. Of course, he wanted other things as well. To feel her lips against his again, her soft skin beneath his hands. To run her hair between his fingers. And so much more, things he didn't dare think on for too long.

They had gone looking for the poachers as planned, on the last full day he had spent in Highever. The remains of the abandoned camp were found easily, the poachers and their traps long gone. A sweep of the area convinced Rhianna the poachers were no longer a threat, and the party had returned to the castle in good spirits.

At dinner that evening, however, Bryce's smile had seemed forced, and while Eleanor was gracious as always, it was clear Rhianna's encounter with poachers in their own woods had been upsetting for the Couslands. So, Loghain decided it was time for him to depart. He needed to get back on the road anyway, to Amaranthine and the few remaining bannrics that needed to be surveyed. But even more, he needed time. Time to decide what he intended to do now his relationship with Rhianna had . . . shifted.

He knew what he wanted. He wanted to be close to her. Maric had been right about at least that one thing: Loghain was happier in Rhianna's company than at just about any other time. He wanted her companionship as he'd had in the past, and now there were other things he wanted as well.

And all of it was possible. He could marry her, bring her back with him, first to Denerim and later, to Gwaren. With Maric gone, Denerim had lost much of its appeal, and while Loghain knew his daughter enjoyed having him near, Cailan had made it increasingly clear his father-in-law's presence and advice were not entirely welcome. It would be so easy to step back, allow Cailan the space he desired. Ferelden wouldn't suffer; Anora was ruling the country in all the ways that mattered, and Loghain certainly trusted her judgment.

All of which gave him a freedom he hadn't had in years. The freedom to consider returning to Gwaren, this time with Rhianna at his side. Instead of a self-imposed exile, it could be the start of a new life. A life with the woman who had been his friend for years. The woman he now found himself desiring almost beyond reason. They could build something beautiful. A home, a family. Together.

But as much as this appealed to him, he still had doubts. Would he be able to adjust to having someone else's constant presence in his life? After Maric's disappearance, Loghain had grown accustomed to being alone. To the welcome solitude that filled many of his days and all of his nights. Could he be happy living with another person, after so long on his own?

And what of Rhianna? Could she enjoy a life in the farthest reaches of the kingdom, away from everyone else she had ever known? And the question that troubled him most: could he truly make her happy? Could she enjoy a life with him, once it was really just the two of them? She cared for him, certainly, but being married was far different than spending a few days here and there riding out into the countryside together. That she might end up trapped in Gwaren, trapped in a marriage she came to abhor, was something he wasn't willing to risk.

Before he spoke with Bryce and Eleanor, he needed to be certain marrying Rhianna was the right thing to do, for both their sakes.

And that meant leaving Highever. It was dangerous to spend too much time with her before he figured out what he intended to do. The feelings that assaulted him the day they spent at the beach made that painfully obvious. What he needed was time. Time to clear his head, well away from Rhianna's welcoming presence. Because when she was near, it was impossible for him to think of any life that didn't have her in it. Besides, right now Bryce's mood seemed less than receptive. Best to wait until this business with the poachers had blown over.

In less than a month they would all be in Denerim. He could decide then. There was plenty of time; a few weeks would make no difference.

So Loghain had left Highever the next morning, Rhianna riding with him to the Imperial Highway, just far enough she'd be able to return to the castle before nightfall. He had been determined to enjoy her company and her conversation, and push all other thoughts from his mind.

For most of the journey, he was successful. They spoke of random, casual things, and she sang for him, convincing him to sing along on the chorus. They laughed together when Dane got himself into a bit of trouble with a wild boar who was crossing the road, and Loghain told stories about some of the more ridiculous things that happened at the Landsmeet in years past.

When the sun was directly overhead, they reached a spot Rhianna declared would be lovely for having their lunch, and about as far as she would be able to ride with him and still make it back to Highever before dark. As they ate, however, Rhianna's earlier good mood seemed to have fled. She still smiled as often, and as warmly, but she was subdued, somehow. And there was something behind her eyes that troubled him.

As they packed up to leave - he towards Northmuir, and she back to Highever - she spoke of it.

"I wish you didn't have to go. Or that I could come with you." She paused. "I'm going to miss you."

"I wish you could come along, as well," he said truthfully. "But we'll see one another soon. I'll be back in Denerim before the Landsmeet. Your father will bring you along, won't he?"

"Yes, I'll be in town next month. Father intends to bring me to the actual Landsmeet this year. I'll be able to sit in on the sessions, instead of spending the whole week going to stupid salons."

"That's an excellent idea." No surprise Bryce would suggest this; Loghain had done the same with Anora.

"Yes. I'm quite pleased, although perhaps a bit nervous. Father says I might be asked to speak once or twice, about how things are in the Coastlands. He thinks I know more about how people actually live in the Coastlands than any of the other nobles, because I spend so much time out and about. Visiting with people, and helping deliver their livestock."

Loghain didn't doubt Bryce was right. Rhianna was bound to make a good impression. And just after her seventeenth birthday . . . marriage proposals would come in fast and heavy. His earlier thought, about having ample time to decide, was perhaps overly generous. If he did decide he wanted to marry her, he would need to act, sooner rather than later. Commit to her, or risk losing her forever when she became the wife some other man. A thought that made him feel sick to his stomach.

As the sun began its descent across the sky, there was no way of stalling the inevitable moment. Loghain needed to head east if he hoped to make it to an inn by nightfall, and Rhianna had a long ride back to Highever. They packed up the remains of lunch, and mounted their horses.

"I'll race you to the top," Rhianna challenged, pointing to the ridge at the top of a nearby hill. With a laugh and a nod of his head, Loghain agreed, and both horses took off at top speed, with Dane racing along behind.

For once, Aeran decided he was not going to be outdone by young Faolan, as had often happened in the past, and with Aeran's powerful back legs doing most of the work, Loghain made it to the top of the hill ahead of Rhianna. She laughed happily anyway, riding past him a few yards before turning Faolan's head toward Highever. Faolan moved as close as possible to Aeran, so Rhianna and Loghain were side by side, their legs touching.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye," she said. "For a few weeks anyway. Until I see you in Denerim."

"Until Denerim," he agreed. "And thank you, Rhianna."

"For what?"

"For everything, these past few days." Just for being you, he added silently.

She wrinkled her nose. "I should be thanking you. I'm so grateful you were with me in the forest. I wouldn't have wanted to go through something like that with anyone else."

"I'm grateful for it, too."

There was something about her just then - the way she smiled at him, the sunlight falling across her cheeks, the few strands of hair that had come out of her braid and were blowing gently in the breeze – that touched a place inside of him, continued to awaken feelings long dormant.

He took her hand, leaning close as he pulled her gently toward him. Then he pressed his lips to hers, lingering to revel in their softness.

When he pulled away, Rhianna's eyes were wide, and for a moment, he worried he'd gone too far. Scared her, or upset her. But then, she smiled, one of the brightest, most beautiful smiles he had ever seen, and he knew she was glad he had kissed her.

"Take care, Rhianna," he murmured, and then urged Aeran into motion. At the bottom of the hill, he turned and looked back. Rhianna and Faolan were silhouetted at the top, and Rhianna raised her arm to wave at him. He waved back, taking the time to appreciate this last look at her before he clucked his tongut at Aeran, and they continued past a curve in the road that blocked her from his view.

He was glad, as well. Glad he had kissed her. Even if it felt like he'd made a promise he wasn't sure he intended to keep.

Over the next several days, he thought about her. In truth, he thought of nothing _but_ her, in most of his waking moments. As he rode across the countryside, when he'd spoken with Bann Nicola's seneschal, while making small talk with Rendon Howe, all he could think about was Rhianna. Standing in his doorway in her nightgown, her feet bare against the cold stone floor. Lying beneath him in the sand, seawater clinging to her eyelashes. The scent of her hair as he held her close, aching at the memories of his mother's death, but so grateful for Rhianna's comforting presence. The drape of fabric across her thigh when she wore the gown he had brought back for her from Rivain.

Apparently, there was no distance great enough to get her out of his mind.

And finally, he had decided. During those hours on the road traveling towards Denerim, he decided. He would keep whatever promise he might have made that day on the hill.

He would marry her. If it was what she wanted, he would marry her.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

"_Dear Loghain, _

_We are here! Father has asked me to invite you to dine with us this evening, if you are free. We will sit down at sunset, although you are welcome to arrive earlier. Anytime, really. I am not planning to go anywhere the rest of the afternoon. _

_I very much hope you can make it. I can hardly wait to see you. _

_Sincerely, _

_Rhianna"_

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain's note had been waiting for her, in a small pile of letters Hobbes handed to her not long after she and her father arrived at Highever House. Stuck in amongst a variety of salon invitations and something that appeared to be from the queen, Rhianna spotted the familiar handwriting she loved so much. Within minutes, she penned a response, and sent it with one of the servants to the Gwaren estate.

She and her father had arrived just past noon, just the two of them. At the last minute, the day before their departure the rest of the family opted to stay in Highever, due to little Oren running an alarmingly high fever. Geoffrey assured them it was nothing serious, just some sort of ill humor that would pass in a few days' time, but it seemed imprudent to make the boy travel when he was sick. In the end, it was decided that Bryce and Rhianna could adequately represent the family during this year's Landsmeet season, and everyone else had remained at home.

For Rhianna, the sight of Denerim in the distance had never before been so welcome. Gone was dread she usually felt at the prospect a season in Denerim, at the time she would be forced to spend with people she didn't like, and the memories of unpleasant things that had happened here over the years. Today there had been nothing but excitement, so much she felt light-headed and giddy when she let herself think on it too long.

Loghain. She would see Loghain.

So many things had happened when he was in Highever. His praise on the practice field, the way he'd pinned her to the sand on the beach. The talk they'd had in the middle of the night. The things he had shared, the things they shared together.

And then, he had kissed her. Before he rode away toward Northmuir, he had pulled her close and kissed her. Even now, she could close her eyes and remember exactly how it had felt. The way her hair tickled her neck in the breeze. The sunshine warm on her skin. His fingers wrapped around her own, and the heat of his lips, how firm they felt. The way her heart raced, and her body went still, not wanting the moment to end.

Of course, it had ended, and he'd ridden away, as she knew he must. But now they would be together again. She would see him, in just a few hours.

And more than anything, she hoped he would want to kiss her again.

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna and Dane were wandering in the garden when the hound's ears perked up, and he bounded toward the house.

This could only mean one thing: Loghain.

Sure enough, one of the doors from the house swung open, and Loghain strode out into the garden. Rhianna waved at him, and he headed toward her, only to be intercepted by Dane. The dog raced up to the teyrn, barking happily, and dancing around Loghain's feet, waiting to be invited to greet him properly.

Loghain fixed the dog with a stare, and Dane stopped bouncing, dropping onto his haunches and sitting perfectly silent and still. After the space of a breath, Loghain winked.

Dane leapt up, his paws on Loghain's shoulders, and began licking him enthusiastically in the face.

"Dane!" Rhianna was embarrassed and amused in equal measure by her dog's antics.

"It's all right," Loghain laughed, turning his head to keep the dog's tongue out of his mouth. "He asked permission."

When Loghain had managed to wrestle Dane back down on all fours, he scratched the mabari vigorously behind the ears. Then, Loghain pulled a small wrapped parcel from one of his pockets.

Dane sat, his stubby tail wagging furiously and his open mouth appearing to smile as he panted up at Loghain.

"What have you got there?" Rhianna asked. Her dog was generally well behaved, but this was ridiculous.

Loghain removed the wrapping to reveal a large hunk of white cheese. "With your permission?" he asked.

"Of course."

Loghain tossed the cheese in the air, and Dane leapt up and caught it in his teeth. After huffing his thanks, the dog hunkered down at Rhianna's feet to enjoy his treat.

"You're going to spoil him dreadfully," Rhianna scolded.

"Worse than you've already spoiled him?"

"My hound is not spoiled!" Rhianna crossed her arms in front of her chest, pretending to take offense.

"Your Nan seems to have a different opinion. But fair enough. At any rate, I have no intention of spoiling Dane. You are the one I intend to spoil."

"Me?" She wrinkled her nose, as warmth rose up on her cheeks.

Loghain reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a second parcel. This one was wrapped more carefully, the parchment held in place with a piece of twine.

"Happy Birthday."

"Loghain? What's this? You already gave me something for my birthday."

He lifted a brow. "Did I?"

"Yes, silly. Earrings, remember? These earrings, in fact." She turned her head to show him she was, indeed, wearing the earrings he had given her. He'd likely already noticed the Rivaini gown.

"Hmnh." His mouth turned up at one corner, and she realized he hadn't forgotten the earrings at all. "Then perhaps you can think of this as my way of welcoming you to your first Landsmeet."

Rhianna's face grew hot, but she smiled with pleasure and took the package from his hands.

"Loghain, you don't have to give me things."

"That's funny. I was under the impression you like presents. Of course, if you don't want it . . ." He reached for the package, as though he intended to take it back.

Rhianna giggled, turning away to keep the parcel just out of his reach. "Of course I want it. I mean, since you've already gone to the trouble, I might as well keep it. Shall I open it now?" she asked, before he threatened to take away the gift again.

"Of course."

Rhianna set about untying the string. "I hope it's cheese, like you gave Dane. I love cheese."

"Indeed? Well, prepare to be disappointed. If I'd known that's how you felt, I could have given you his package. I've no doubt he could have made good use of yours."

Rhianna laughed as she removed the parchment, and then the laughter died in her throat as she saw what she now held in her hands.

"Oh," she breathed, "it's so beautiful!"

It was a belt pouch, made of rich, soft, dark brown leather. Decorative black stitching wove its way around the edges, and in the back, between the belt loops, was a sheath for holding a dagger. She ran her finger lightly over a laurel wreath tooled on the large front flap.

"The symbol of Highever. Did you have this made just for me?"

"Yes. I know you usually wear the dagger strapped to your leg, but I thought this would be convenient for those times you might wish to wear it more openly."

"Oh, Loghain. Thank you so much. I love it. It's gorgeous, and I love it." She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. After a moment's pause, he returned the embrace. She breathed in his scent, and the warmth of his arms wrapped around her made her breath come faster. It felt so good to be close to him.

With a stab of regret, she pulled away from him, wishing she could stay in his arms a while longer, but worried he would think it strange if she continued clinging to him indefinitely.

She smiled brightly. "And I can wear it when we go riding tomorrow. You will take me riding tomorrow, won't you?"

"Yes," Loghain chuckled, "I'll take you riding tomorrow. Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere, so long as it's away from the city." Rhianna bit her bottom lip. "What about Dragon's Peak? I've never been to the top of Dragon's Peak. We can ride there and back in a day, can't we?"

"Yes," Loghain agreed. "That would be a pleasant ride."

"What's this about riding?"

Rhianna and Loghain both turned at Bryce Cousland's approach, and Rhianna's smile faltered when she saw the look on her father's face. He was frowning, and looked . . . tired. Out of sorts, somehow.

"Hello, Father," Rhianna said. "Loghain and I are planning to climb Dragon's Peak tomorrow."

"Dragon's Peak?" His brow creased, as he looked from Rhianna to Loghain, then back to Rhianna. "Oh, Pup, are you sure that's a good idea? You . . . well, we've only just arrived in the city."

"Of course it's a good idea! It will be our only chance to get out of Denerim for the next week at least, what with the Landsmeet coming up. Probably our last chance until the royal hunt. Why don't you come with us?"

His face was tense, and for a moment Rhianna thought he meant to argue, perhaps even forbid her from going, although she couldn't imagine why he would do such a thing.

Finally he sighed. "No. I'm afraid I can't afford a day away from the city right now. But I suppose you're right about it being the last chance for a while. You should go. Have some fun before the Landsmeet begins." He sounded unhappy. Defeated, almost.

What had happened? He'd been in a good mood when they arrived, but now . . .? She glanced at a folded parchment he held in his hand.

"Father, is something the matter? Did you get bad news?"

He blinked, as though surprised by the question. Then, he tucked the parchment into a pocket. "No, of course not. Nothing you need worry about, at any rate."

"Then come with us tomorrow," she urged. In truth, she liked the idea of spending the day with Loghain, just the two of them. But if her father needed cheering for some reason, perhaps a day in the country would be just what he needed.

"No thank you, Pup. I do have business to attend, as well as plans for lunch. You're more than welcome to come along, of course. I'll be taking afternoon tea with Leonas and Harriet. And, no doubt, her cats."

"Oh, my. That is tempting." She looked at Loghain, eying him from head to toe as if weighing his merits. "Lady Harriet's cats, or a day with Teyrn Loghain?" She sighed melodramatically. "How will I ever decide?"

"Well," Loghain said smoothly. "You could have us both. I would be more than happy to accompany you to Lady Harriet's, assuming your father could arrange an invitation?"

"I've no doubt you'd be more than welcome," Bryce agreed.

Oh no! This discussion was moving in the wrong direction, very quickly.

Rhianna wasn't the only one who thought so. Dane put his face on his paws and gave an exceedingly pitiful whine. He wanted nothing more than to romp in the countryside with his mistress and her consort. Why were his humans talking about going to lunch with the horrible cats, where Dane would certainly not be invited?

Rhianna laughed, even as she shuddered in mock horror. "Don't you dare suggest such a thing, either of you! Loghain, you and I are going riding. And I'm afraid, Father, you'll just have to give our regrets to the cats."

‹O›  
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‹O›  
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‹O›

Thank you, as always, to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair, and also to all my lovely reviewers: Artwo.D2, Hannahhobnob, KrystylSky, DjinniGenie, Milly-finalfantasy, SecretWriter8910, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Doom-N-GloomGal, Mialiah, Kathleen M Power, GLCW2 and SwomeeSwan.


	51. Aren't you going to kiss me?

_**29 Solace, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Dragon's Peak**_

‹›‹O›‹›

When Loghain arrived at Highever House not long after daybreak, he found Rhianna dressed and ready. Her hair was down, her cheeks scrubbed pink. She wore trousers of soft brown leather, and a dusky blue blouse, with the leather pouch he had given her strapped around her waist. Nothing about the way she was dressed marked her the daughter of a teyrn. She could have just as easily been the daughter of a farmer or a blacksmith or a trapper. It was an appealing thought: for today, they didn't have to be the teyrn, and the teyrn's daughter. They could just be Rhianna and Loghain, without responsibilities to the rest of the world hanging over their heads.

He was pleased she'd worn the pouch. It suited her, and she seemed to genuinely like the gift. It had indeed been custom-made, by the best cordwainer in Denerim, and in remarkably quick time; Loghain commissioned it as soon as he arrived back in Denerim after his trip through the Coastlands. Depending on what happened over the next several days, he hoped to take it back from her, and return it to the cordwainer so a wyvern - the symbol of Gwaren - could be added in the center of the wreath.

Turning it into a betrothal gift, of sorts.

Not that he was prepared to speak with Bryce. Not just yet. Loghain still needed to assure himself being wed to him was what Rhianna genuinely wanted. He had the next two weeks, give or take, to figure that out. With any luck, today would give him an indication of how she felt about the matter.

With Dane running ahead, and Gwyn keeping pace in the sky above them, they rode out of the city and took the road south toward Dragon's Peak. It was a perfect day for such an adventure; the sky was clear and blue and cloudless above, and the sun drove away the slight hint of autumn chill carried on the wind from the south. They let the horses run for a while, making conversation impossible, but when Aeran and Faolan tired, Loghain gave Rhianna the details of what he'd learned on his journey throughout Ferelden.

"On the whole, both the numbers and preparedness of regular soldiers throughout the land is satisfactory. The Bannorn, however, is somewhat less well equipped and far less prepared than those places along the coast, or near borders with Orlais."

"Less prepared? In what way?"

"Much of the region has completely abandoned any training regimen for the populace. Bann after bann told me it was 'too difficult' to convince the farmers and tradespeople to train regularly at arms."

"But they're expected to fight should the need arise," Rhianna said. "The people in Highever – the ones who would be called upon to fight, anyway – train regularly, during the seasons when the farm fields don't need tending."

"Yes, it's the same in Gwaren, and Arl Wulff is diligent about it as well in the West Hills, as are Eremon and Howe in the Coastlands. Really, it's mostly the Bannorn who have decided it's too much trouble to train properly."

"I suppose they feel relatively sheltered. If Orlais does invade, the chevaliers will have to come through somewhere else – the Coastlands, or Gherlen's Pass, most likely – before they reach the Bannorn."

"Indeed. But that sentiment will not keep them alive for long should some threat actually make its way to them."

"Is there some threat?" Rhianna asked. "From Orlais, or elsewhere? Some reason for concern? I know you said there wasn't, when we spoke of it in Highever . . ."

"There's no imminent threat, Rhianna. I swear. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be prepared for the worst, at all times."

‹›‹O›‹›

Within a few hours, they arrived in Dragon's Peak. After a stop at the tavern for meat pies and hot cider, they continued up the mountain on horseback as far as Aeran and Faolan could take them. When the terrain became too steep, Rhianna, Loghain and Dane left the horses in a small, shady clearing, and hiked the last half-mile or so on foot. Gwyn was nowhere to be seen, presumably amusing herself by exploring the air currents around the peak.

Surrounded by ancient trees, evergreens mostly, they found a wide path that wound its way comfortably up the mountain. It wasn't a particular strenuous climb, and Rhianna seemed in a very good mood. Even so, Loghain felt nervous, and slightly out of breath. Less from the hike, and more from anxiety about things that might or might not happen today. The top of Dragon's Peak would be an ideal location for the two of them to share a first kiss. Their first real kiss. If she wanted to kiss him. It was absolutely what he wanted, so much so it was difficult not to stop right here, and pull her into his arms . . .

But he didn't allow himself to do that. What if . . . what if that wasn't what she wanted? Perhaps he misjudged their conversation that night in Highever. Yes, she had spoken of making love to him, but as a way of distracting herself from the horror of having killed a man earlier in the day. Perhaps that was all there was to it. Just one night, to drive a bad memory away. It was possible she wanted nothing more from him now than what they had together in the past. And if that was the case, so be it. Even without anything more, her friendship was a treasure. Yes, he wanted to kiss her, and more. But only if she wanted those things as much as he did.

Perhaps she did; she was smiling and cheerful today. Of course, Rhianna was almost always smiling and cheerful. It's just the sort of person she was. He might be reading into it more than was proper.

Still . . . he wanted to kiss her. And when they got to the top of the mountain . . .

Well, he'd just wait and see what happened when they arrived.

They passed the ruins of an old temple, built, by the look of it, by the Alamarri in centuries past. Soon afterwards, the terrain became rockier, and the trees thinned. The final fifty feet was a climb nearly straight up over large rocks, and both Rhianna and Loghain were somewhat breathless by the time they reached the top. Dane had opted not to make the final push, instead bounding off through the trees after a hare, so Loghain and Rhianna found themselves alone on the small, nearly flat plateau that marked the top of Dragon's Peak.

As was her habit in places like this, Rhianna walked straight to the edge. Loghain followed, coming to stand beside her. Below was a steep drop-off, the cliff plunging hundreds of feet to a small stand of trees. Spreading out in the distance was a gorgeous vista: first the tree-dotted foothills of the peak, and then open plains filling the space between Dragon's Peak and Denerim. The capital city itself appeared to be no more than a small collection of tiny boxes, and beyond it, a finger of the Amaranthine Ocean glittered in the sunlight. To the west, the edges of the Bannorn could be seen, a geometric pattern of tilled fields alternating with patches of forest. Behind them, the Brecilian Forest stretched out as far as the eye could see, shadowed under a blanket of dark clouds.

"Maker's breath," Rhianna said. "This is gorgeous. I never imagined Denerim could look so pretty. And the Bannorn looks like a quilt. I've never seen a view like this before."

"It is beautiful," Loghain agreed.

Rhianna smiled up at him, then turned her gaze back to the landscape stretching before her. She inhaled deeply, and let it out again with a sigh. "I love this feeling. Being at the very top of somewhere. Everything looks so small, and not quite real. It's like being out of the world, being somewhere magical. Looking down at all of creation and realizing how beautiful and perfect it all is, even though it might not seem that way up close." She chuckled. "That doesn't make any sense at all, does it?"

"It makes perfect sense. Up close, things are often dirty or plain or tattered, but none of that shows when you step far enough away. I think this might be the reason I love maps," he mused.

"Yes. That's it exactly. All the imperfections go away, and it just looks beautiful."

Beautiful. Just like Rhianna, except even up close she had no imperfections. None he could see, at any rate.

They stood so close together he could feel a slight warmth from her body, and he ached to touch her, to take her into his arms. Even just to place his hand on her shoulder. But he hesitated. What if she pushed him away? What if she didn't want to be touched?

This was ridiculous. He and Rhianna had never been shy about physical closeness. They had held hands countless times, comforted one another, embraced freely. Why was he nervous about touching her now?

Well, the answer to that question was obvious: throughout most of their history together, he'd never wanted to touch her in a way that was more than friendly or comforting. And today he most certainly had other things on his mind.

Damn. Why was this so complicated? Clearly, it had been much too long since he had been in a situation like this. A . . . romantic situation. Years and years. But still. How hard could it be? All he needed to do was reach out, take her hand.

But somehow, he couldn't manage to do it.

Then, her hand brushed against his. She didn't look at him; her gaze was still fixed on Denerim in the distance, but she took his hand in her own.

Maker.

An expansive feeling bloomed in his chest, of desire, and anticipation.

He tightened his fingers around hers.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Loghain squeezed her hand, and she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. She'd been nervous - terrified, really - to reach across the space between them and touch him. Which was silly. She'd held his hand more times than she could remember.

But this time was different.

Still, he didn't seem to mind that she'd taken his hand; the thought helped her to relax. A little.

Rhianna still couldn't quite bring herself to look at him. Not just yet. So, she looked out over the view. It really was beautiful. The sun's reflection on the distant ocean, like a smear of vibrant, bright paint dancing on the surface of a vast blue canvas, refusing to give itself up to the depths. The way the colors of the fields and the forest kept themselves separate in some places, but blended into one another in others. She took one slow breath after the next, trying to remain calm, and only barely succeeding. So many thoughts raced through her mind, as unfamiliar feelings spread through her body. This seemed the perfect time, the perfect place, for them to share a kiss. Their first real kiss. Something more than just a peck on the cheek, or the lips.

But was that what he wanted? He had kissed her before leaving Highever, but maybe he had just done it to be friendly. Perhaps it didn't mean he wanted to kiss her again, really kiss her. Whatever that meant. (She still wasn't entirely sure; she'd only seen people "really" kiss a few times, and only for a moment before looking away).

Did he want to kiss her? She hoped so much it was what he wanted. It _had_ to be what he wanted.

Didn't it?

She wanted to turn and face him, but something held her back. Why was this so difficult? This was _Loghain_. He'd never judged her or been cruel or critical. And he'd kissed her before he left Highever.

Surely, if she just turned toward him, everything would be fine. Better than fine.

Just do it. Just turn to face him.

Finally, she did. Loghain met her gaze, but she couldn't quite read his expression. There was tension in his face, along his jaw and at the corners of his eyes. Or perhaps she was imagining it. Mostly, he looked calm, his eyes searching her face. Could he see how nervous _she_ was? Could he know there was a fluttering in her stomach that made her breath come faster? That she was trembling, that a trickle of sweat coursed down her back, not caused solely by the exertion of climbing the mountain?

She wanted so much for him to lean toward her, to bring his face to hers as he had done on the Imperial Highway. To kiss her.

But he didn't move. He just looked down at her, an inscrutable look in his eyes, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Why wasn't he doing anything? What was he waiting for?

She bit her bottom lip. "Aren't you . . . aren't you going to kiss me?"

He hesitated a moment, then shook his head. "No."

She drew in a quick breath, disappointment and shame washing over her.

Oh, Maker. He didn't want her after all. What a fool she had made of herself, holding his hand, acting like a love-sick idiot . . .

She started to pull away, but he kept a tight hold on her hand, tugging at it to keep her close.

"Not until you kiss me first." With his free hand, he grasped her chin. "I need to be certain, Rhianna, that whatever happens between us is what you really want."

"What I want?"

"Yes."

But . . . what was that supposed to mean? How could he not know this was what she wanted?

Then again, perhaps he didn't. She still wasn't sure if this was what he wanted, after all.

"All right," she replied. "But you . . . you do _want_ to kiss me, don't you?"

"Yes." His voice was deeper than usual. "More than anything."

She looked up at him for a moment, and then closed her eyes, almost overwhelmed by the realization: he wanted this. Oh, Maker. He wanted this, and he was just making sure it was what she wanted, as well. As always, he was so careful of her, so kind . . .

She took one slow, deliberate breath after another.

But how was she supposed to do this? She didn't know what to do, beyond pressing her lips to his. Was there more to it than that? How was she supposed to kiss him first, when she knew nothing about it?

This was ridiculous. All she needed to do was press her lips to his. She could do that. She'd done it before, that night in his room. And if there was more to it than that, he would show her.

Yes.

She chewed at her lip and swallowed, then opened her eyes. She pulled at his hand and stretched up toward him. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she brought her lips to his, and held them there for a moment.

Loghain didn't move, didn't seem to respond in any way.

She retreated, just enough so her lips were no longer touching his, but she could still feel their heat as her own hovered less than an inch away.

After taking a breath, she kissed him again. This time, Loghain shifted his body closer, and his mouth moved against hers, his lips caressing hers softly, gently.

Rhianna went still, not sure what to do, how to respond. She didn't pull away again, though. What he was doing . . . it felt strange and utterly lovely, and she wanted him to keep doing it. Wanted to maintain the contact between them.

Loghain's lips stilled against hers; perhaps he thought she wanted to stop.

Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

Allowing her lips to move against his, she began to kiss him, more boldly this time, and his mouth came alive again. She released the hand she had been holding, and slid her palms up to rest against his chest. He reached around her waist and pulled her closer. Oh, Maker. It felt so good, being close to him like this.

She pulled away slightly, just enough to take a breath, and when she went to kiss him again, she turned her head, bumping her nose against his. Pulling away, she blinked up at him in surprise and embarrassment.

Dammit! She was inept, and clumsy, and what if she'd hurt him? Had she ruined everything?

But Loghain met her eyes, his lip curling with amusement. He cradled her cheeks with his hands, gently turning her face, and then leaning in to kiss her again, more determinedly than before, and her embarrassed thoughts slipped away. His lips were smooth and firm, and he smelled of leather and rich earth, and this was the most wonderful feeling, so much better than anything she could have imagined.

She felt a gentle pressure; his tongue sliding against her lower lip. Again, she went still, but only for a moment before she pressed her tongue tentatively against one of his lips. Then his tongue met hers, warm and wet, igniting a flame deep in her belly that was comforting and exciting and slightly maddening all at the same time.

Rhianna inhaled, pulling away.

Loghain didn't try and pull her close again, nor did he move away. His eyes were dark, his pupils so wide nearly all the blue was pushed away, and his lips were parted, his chest heaving slightly as though he were struggling for breath.

The flame inside her grew brighter, and she came to him again, pressing her mouth to his, and then sliding her tongue across his lip again. He moaned from somewhere deep in his chest, meeting her tongue with his own, and a warmth burst through her, filling her with an ache centered deep inside. A sound escaped her throat, a sound of pleasure, and of this desire that flooded her, a feeling unlike any she had felt before.

His hands left her face, resting for a moment on her shoulders, and then continuing down her arms, across her back. He stretched his palms wide across the small of her back, running them across her waist, and down over the swell of her buttocks. He pulled her toward him, and kissed her more deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue.

Rhianna's hands slid across his chest, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him, her kisses mirroring his, their lips moving ever more hungrily together. She wound the fingers of one hand into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, wanting all of him. Her body was humming, and she felt as though her feet were barely touching the ground.

Again he moaned, and then he brought his hands up to cradle her face, slowly pulling away from her.

For a moment she kept her eyes closed, able to do nothing more than breathe, reeling, both from the loss of him and from everything awakened inside her.

Then she slid her hands down, resting her palms flat against his chest. Her eyes fluttered open and his expression was unlike any she had seen before. She thought she had witnessed all Loghain's moods, but this was something new. Something fierce and intense, yet tender and searching. Something that made her heart ache.

_He loves me_.

Feelings flooded through her, so many she felt overwhelmed and almost afraid. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her face against his chest. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and he slid his arms around her shoulders, holding her close and resting his cheek on the top of her head.

Oh, Maker. This was perfect. Utterly perfect. Never before had everything felt so right.

When her breathing, and his own, returned to normal, Loghain lifted his head, and pulled away from her, just enough to look into her eyes.

"Rhianna. Are you . . . all right? Was that what you wanted?"

She laughed, a high-pitched surprised sort of laugh. "Yes. Yes, that was what I wanted. What I've wanted for a very long time." She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a quick, deep breath, and then looked up at him again. "I will admit I had no idea it would feel like . . . that, though. I expected it to be nice, but that . . . that was . . . amazing."

His eyes grew warmer, and she looked away, needed to look away - just for a moment - from that intensity, as her cheeks, already flushed, grew hot. Then she chuckled nervously, glancing up at him. "Will I always have to kiss you? Or will you kiss me first, some of the time?"

Rather than answering in words, he pulled her into his arms again.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Loghain lost track of time entirely as the minutes slipped past, Rhianna's warmth flooding him as he held her close. It took all his will to keep his hands from straying past her waist and up to her breasts, or from tugging her shirt free of her trousers to feel more of her skin beneath his hands. But he didn't want to overwhelm her, or go further than she was ready to go.

So he held her gently, his hands spread out against her back while his lips moved over hers, and she kissed him with equal passion.

Rhianna flinched, and pulled away, wiping at something on her face.

"What in the Maker's name . . .?" she asked.

Looking up, he felt it, too; something cold and wet struck his cheek.

Overhead, the sunny skies were gone, replaced by the storm clouds that had been over the Brecilian forest earlier in the day. It was merely a drizzle now, but judging by the look of the clouds, dark grey and heavy with rain, it promised to turn into a downpour in a very few minutes.

"Oh, Maker!" Rhianna burst into laughter. "How in the world did the storm sneak up on us? We're going to get rained on!"

Hand in hand, they hurried back the way they had come, across the plateau at the top of the mountain, and then down the rocks. As they ran, Rhianna called for Dane and Gwyn. They would need to find cover, some place to wait out the storm.

Loghain reached the bottom of the rocks first, and held his arms out to Rhianna. As she jumped down to him, the sky opened, pelting them with fat, heavy raindrops, colder than the temperature of the air. Rhianna fell into his arms, and he hugged her tightly, spinning her around once before setting her on her feet.

"The Alamarri temple." He had to shout to be heard over the beating of raindrops all around. "We can take shelter there.

Rhianna nodded, then stretched up to plant a kiss on his lips. With an arm around her waist, he pulled her close and allowed himself to return the kiss, briefly. Then, hand in hand they ran for the temple they passed on the way up the mountain. Dane appeared from the underbrush, his fur streaked with water, and together they made their way inside the ruined temple. The roof of the temple was mostly gone, but the humans and dog found shelter under an archway that was still intact. Gwyn was already there, perched underneath an overhanging ledge, completely dry and fluffed up against the cold, looking quite satisfied with herself.

Even those few minutes in the storm had been enough; Rhianna and Loghain were both completely drenched. Rhianna looked up at him, and began to laugh, water dripping down her face and through her hair. Nearby, Dane shook himself, from nose to tail, sending a spray of water droplets flying, hitting everyone in the vicinity.

"Dane!" Rhianna scolded, while Gwyn squawked her displeasure, and gave the dog a petulant stare.

Rhianna turned to Loghain. "Why does this seem so familiar? Didn't this happen the last time we rode out together? We ended up with our clothes soaking wet?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact it did," Loghain agreed. "I blame the dog."

Dane barked indignantly.

Loghain shrugged, "We never had anything like this happen before you came along. And you certainly didn't help matters with that little maneuver of yours just now."

Dane whined, dropping to the floor and putting one paw across his face.

_You two ended up in the ocean without any help from me. I was asleep the whole time!_

"Oh, all right," Loghain amended. "Maybe it's not your fault." He bent down and whispered to Dane, "It must be your mistress, then."

Dane barked his agreement, and Rhianna burst into merry laughter.

"Oh, my fault, is it?"

"Well, it's certainly not my fault," Loghain replied. "I just assumed this must be one of the 'skills of terror' you honed while I was away. Making sure everyone is wet and miserable."

"Miserable? Is that really how you're feeling just now?" She smiled up at him, placing her palm flat against his chest, her heat seeping through the fabric to warm his skin.

Maker's blood. She was so beautiful. Water dripped from her hair and clung to her eyelashes, and her shirt was soaked completely through. The outline of her body showed through the fabric, and he allowed his eyes to linger on the curve of her waist, her perfectly shaped breasts, the dark nipples just visible through the linen.

"Perhaps you have a point. Cold and wet, yes. But not miserable."

He grasped her shoulders, drawing her close. Eagerly, she lifted her face to his. The rain on her lips was cool, in contrast with the heat of her mouth. Her tongue found his, and they lost themselves in one another again, sheltered from the storm outside, while the rain pelted down all around them.

A loud "_boom_" split the air, the stone walls shuddering with the deafening roar of thunder. Rhianna turned from Loghain to look out into the storm. Lightning flashed, and Rhianna's hands gripped Loghain's waist tightly as the thunder rumbled through a few seconds later. Could she be afraid of the thunderstorm? That seemed impossible; Rhianna was afraid of very few things, and none without good reason.

When she turned back to him, her eyes were bright.

"I love thunderstorms! They always make me feel something exciting is going to happen."

Another roll of thunder shook the building and Loghain pulled Rhianna closer. She snuggled herself against him, resting her head against his chest, her arms around his waist, her face turned to look out at the storm. He closed his eyes for a minute, savoring the feeling of her warmth, of the curves of her body pressed against him, and allowed himself a quiet sigh of contentment.

"I enjoy a good storm," he replied, "but I prefer to view inclement weather from a more protected place."

Rhianna giggled, but when she spoke, the good humor had gone. "I hope the horses are all right."

"They'll be fine," Loghain assured. "Although they'll probably not be in the same spot we left them." Following Rhianna's example, Loghain had taken to leaving Aeran untied, especially when he was with Faolan. "But they'll stay together, and find some shelter from the storm. Hopefully not too far from where they started."

Another flash of light followed immediately by a boom of thunder; the storm was nearly above them now.

"I suppose," Loghain began, "there's nothing to do but wait out the storm here."

"Nothing to do?" A mischievous smile crept across Rhianna's face. "Nothing? Are you sure about that?"

She kissed him, and his arms tightened around her, and though the lightning flashed and thunder rolled all around them, he was only dimly aware of it, focused instead on the woman in his arms.

In this way, they passed the time until the storm moved off toward Denerim.

‹›‹O›‹›

When the storm had gone, taking the rain along with it, Rhianna and Loghain started down the mountain in search of the horses. Fortunately, Faolan and Aeran hadn't gone far; they'd found shelter under an overhang of rock not far from the clearing.

Humans and animals all together again, they made their way back toward town. The sun failed to break through the overcast left behind in the wake of the storm, and the air was uncomfortably chill, especially through their damp clothing.

Rhianna and Loghain were both shivering by the time they reached the bottom of the mountain, so, they stopped in a tavern near the market in Dragon's Peak. A hot lunch at a table near the blazing fire in the hearth drove away the cold, while they waited for their clothes to dry.

"Perhaps in the future," Rhianna quipped, "we should bring a change of clothes whenever we leave the city. What with one thing and another, it's practically become a necessity."

Mid-afternoon, they began the journey back to Denerim. They walked the horses, talking as they rode, and every so often, Rhianna glanced at Loghain, giving him a sheepish, but entirely happy smile. Loghain was in no particular hurry to get back to the city, and neither, apparently, was Rhianna. The longer this day – this wonderful day – could be extended, the better.

Kissing her had been . . . perfect. Exhilarating and tender and comfortable and passionate.

Yes. Perfect.

This had come as something of a surprise. Not that Loghain expected it to be dull, but Rhianna was young and inexperienced, which could have led to awkwardness. He'd also worried she would decide kissing him was not what she had expected. That she might have found him too old, or too forceful, or off-putting in some other way, and not enjoyed it at all.

But it had been nothing like that. Far from it. There had been no awkwardness, other than some bumping of noses. And no hesitation, after that initial moment, when he had taken his time, resisting the urge to pull her close, giving her the freedom to pull away if this was not what she wanted.

But, blessed Andraste, kissing him is what Rhianna had wanted, and she had come to him so sweetly, and had, without a doubt, been as eager as Loghain for the kisses they shared. He hadn't had a woman respond to him like that in . . . what felt like forever. And he couldn't remember the last time he felt so calm, so content, and yet so exhilarated, all at the same time. Kissing Rhianna was like coming home to a place he'd never been before. A place he never wanted to leave.

And the look she was giving him now suggested she would be more than happy to kiss him again. Repeatedly. What a remarkable feeling, to think he could call out her name, and she would come willingly into his arms.

Desire flooded his mind and his body. Thoughts of kissing her again. Of caressing her, of running his fingers across all the places he ached to touch. Of making love to her, of losing himself in her. Of her breath hot against his ear, his body above hers, of there being no space between them. Of being as close to her as it was possible for two people to be.

Not that there was any hurry; he would not rush her through any of this. He wanted her to feel safe and enjoy every moment of whatever they shared. And he intended to savor it, as well.

Perhaps they should take a break from riding. Savor this time together in the way he suspected they both wanted.

As he was about to suggest they give the horses a rest, Rhianna reined Faolan to a halt.

"Loghain, we need to stop."

Her voice sounded vaguely worried, and Aeran pulled close as she slid from Faolan's back. She walked to the front of her mount, lifting one of Faolan's legs.

"Damn. He's thrown a shoe. It probably got knocked loose when he was trying to find shelter from the storm." She turned to Loghain. "Should we go back and find a blacksmith in Dragon's Peak, or just keep on for Denerim?"

Loghain glanced around. "We're still closer to Dragon's Peak than Denerim, but only marginally. Walking him all the way back, finding a blacksmith, and then riding to Denerim will take just as long, if not longer, than if we just continue on. Why don't we keep going? Aeran can easily carry both of us."

This was undoubtedly true. Rhianna likely weighed little more more than Loghain's plate mail, and Aeran was well accustomed to carrying an armored Loghain on his back.

"Oh! So, I'm going to have to ride on your horse with you?" She chuckled. "If I'd known that was possible, I'd have arranged for Faolan to throw a shoe ages ago."

They rearranged the equipment so Faolan carried everything but the two riders (including Gwyn, who had tired of flying and preferred to perch on Faolan's saddle). But when Loghain moved to mount his horse, Rhianna's hand on his arm stopped him, her intention clear. She reached her arms around his neck, then covered his mouth with her own and kissed him deeply.

He surrendered himself to her, returning her kiss, but fighting the urge to pull her closer. He wanted so desperately to be closer to her, but she felt thin and fragile beneath his hands, and he feared he might crush her in his embrace.

What a ridiculous thought. Rhianna was lithe and strong and he'd elbowed and punched her and slammed her into the ground more times than he could count during sparring practice. But now she seemed vulnerable, and he found himself afraid of hurting her. Perhaps because she was offering something to him she'd never offered before.

When they continued on their way, Loghain mounted his horse, then pulled Rhianna up to sit in front of him. She was a superb horsewoman and in no danger of losing her seat, but he wrapped one arm tightly around her waist, holding the reins loosely in his other hand. She relaxed back against his chest, setting one of her hands atop his, and weaving her fingers between his own.

Never before had Loghain been grateful for the inconvenience of a thrown shoe.

They walked the horses back to Denerim, chatting easily. Even with the new turn their relationship had taken, there was no awkwardness between them. They had known one another too long, and too well, to be anything other than comfortable together.

Occasionally, Loghain bent down to place a kiss on her temple or just behind her ear. Now and again, Rhianna leaned back her head to run her lips along the line of his jaw or his neck. In the wake of the thunderstorm, they passed only a few travelers on the road, all of whom waved and smiled at the lovely young woman and her handsome fellow, a couple so clearly enamored of one another. Two people enjoying a day together, with no responsibilities to the rest of the world hanging over their heads.

Because of the extra time spent in Dragon's Peak, and their slow pace back to Denerim, it was dark long before they reached the city. Satina, Thedas' second moon, was nearly full, so they didn't bother with a torch.

About half an hour out of the city, a pair of riders approached, galloping at top speed. Rhianna sat up as they drew near.

"Maker's breath! That looks like . . . I think that's my father."

Rhianna unwound her hand from Loghain's and sat up straighter, as he withdrew the arm he had curled around her waist.

The two men pulled their mounts up alongside Aeran. Rhianna was correct: one of them was her father, accompanied by the Highever footman.

"Rhianna." Bryce breathed a sigh of relief. "There you are."

"Father? What are you doing out here?" Rhianna's voice shook, as though she were struggling to sound as though she hadn't been caught doing something she ought not have been doing.

"I expected you home before dark." He glanced from Rhianna, to Loghain, then back to Rhianna, and his brow furrowed. Probably at the sight of his daughter riding with Loghain, rather than atop her own mount.

"I'm sorry," Rhianna said. "We intended to be back before dark. But Faolan threw a shoe halfway back from Dragon's Peak. We've had to walk him most of the way. That's also why I'm riding double with Loghain."

"I see." Bryce frowned. "I was . . . worried. When the storm hit Denerim, it was rather fierce, and I feared you'd gotten caught out in it. And after the incident with the assassins a few years ago . . ."

"We did get caught in the storm," Rhianna replied. "It hit while we were at the top of the mountain, but we waited it out in an old Alamarri temple. Even so, you shouldn't have worried," she chided. "You knew I was with Loghain. I'll always be safe with him."

Bryce lifted a brow, clearly not swayed by that particular argument, but he didn't contradict her. The man looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, and tension along his jaw. Had he really been so worried about his daughter? Or perhaps something else was troubling him. It did seem unusual he would come looking for them when Rhianna was only a couple of hours later than expected. This was reminiscent of the day they'd ridden to the waterfall, and Bryce and Eleanor had been so frantic. There'd been a specific reason for it that time; was the same true tonight?

"Perhaps," Bryce replied, glancing at the hawk sitting calmly on Faolan's saddle, "next time, you might consider sending a message back with the bird. If you know you'll be late."

"Of course. I'm sorry for not thinking of it myself. You know I never want you to be worried."

They turned their mounts toward Denerim. As they rode, Rhianna gave an account of their day. Not a complete account, obviously, but she elaborated greatly on the details she chose to share with her father: the view from the top of the mountain; the way the storm had seemed to come out of nowhere; watching the lightning from a ruined Alamarri temple.

For the most part, Loghain remained silent, distracted by Rhianna's body pressed against his, and how empty his hand felt without her fingers twined around it. He regretted he wouldn't have the opportunity kiss her goodnight.

Tomorrow, however, was Funalis. There would be a city-wide celebration of the holiday, and no doubt the two of them could manage to spend at least part of the day alone, tucked away somewhere private. The palace garden, perhaps. He had little doubt she would agree to such a suggestion.

Especially if she hungered for his lips as much as he hungered for hers.

‹O›  
o  
‹O›  
o  
‹O›

Thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta Psyche Sinclair, and also to some additional beta assistance from Ladyamesindy, Sehnsuchttraum, and Girl-Chama, all of whom reviewed the kissing part (I wanted to make sure it was as lovely as possible, considering it was Rhianna and Loghain's first kiss). And thank you as well to all my lovely reviewers: DjinnieGenie, Psyche Sinclair, Hannahhobnob, Serena R. Snape, Milly-finalfantasy, SwomeeSwan, GLCW2, Tyrannosaurustex, Shadowfang, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and KatDancer2.

There is artwork that accompanies this chapter, a gorgeous line drawing of Loghain and Rhianna in the ruins. You will find it by following the "Extras" link on my profile.

Finally, the idea for the wyvern and laurel wreath together on a gift is shamelessly stolen from Addai's wonderful story, "The Arrangement."


	52. Merrily roar out our harvest home

_**30 Solace, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Denerim**_

‹›‹O›‹›

The scent of baking bread drifted through the Highever estate, filling every corner with the sweet, sharp smell of yeast. It was tradition on Funalis to bake bread with flour ground from the year's first wheat harvest, and everyone in the household - Rhianna and Bryce included - had gathered in the kitchen at dawn to join in the baking. Loaves and rounds and bloomers and twists were shaped and baked, then pulled from the ovens when they were golden brown and fragrant. As well, each member of the household fashioned a small figure out of the dough. These bread dollies would be "sacrificed" on the bonfire that would dominate the center of the Market square in the evening, in honor of Andraste's death in Minrathous.

Rhianna was covered in flour up to her elbows, with white streaks in her hair and on her gown, and quite satisfied with the morning's work. She always enjoyed baking: kneading and pounding with the heels of her hands, the feel of the dough in her fingers as she made elaborate braids, or pinched her dolly into something shaped roughly like a person. She also enjoyed the camaraderie of the entire household coming together for the task.

By mid-morning, the baking was finished. Her own little dolly in hand, she left the kitchens to change into the clothes she would wear to the festival: a gorgeous gown of brown and orange and gold, the colors of the harvest. As she was on her way upstairs, a messenger arrived.

"For you, Lady Cousland." The boy made a quick bow. "From the Teyrn of Gwaren. He asked me to wait for your reply."

"_R, _

_Meet me in the palace garden?_

_~ L_"

Trying not to let her excitement show on her face, she refolded the parchment. "Please tell the teyrn I said, 'yes.'"

"As you wish, milady." The boy nodded, and ran off to deliver her response.

The palace garden. Hopefully this meant Loghain intended to escort her to the ceremony later in the day, when farmers from across the land would bring baskets with some of the fruits of their harvest, in order to be given a blessing by the king and queen. And to the candlelight procession once darkness fell, and the bonfires afterward. With any luck, she could spend the entire day with Loghain, and with her father as well.

There were still a few hours before the official celebrations would begin. If she could convince her father to leave as soon as she'd changed her gown, there might be an opportunity for Rhianna and Loghain to spend some time in the garden together.

Alone.

Bryce gave no argument when Rhianna suggested they go straight to the palace, and within half an hour they left Highever House together, with Dane trotting at Rhianna's heel.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

In a corner of the palace courtyard, Delilah Howe was flanked by her brother, Thomas, on one side, and Habren Bryland and Tanith Curwen on the other. Not the company she would have preferred to keep, but they were the closest she had to friends here in Denerim. If only her father hadn't insisted she travel with them for the Landsmeet this year. The thought of staying behind in Amaranthine, especially with no one watching her every minute of the day, was very appealing. But Father had insisted, so here she was, listening to her three companions gossip rather mindlessly, as usual.

"I can hardly wait for Bann Nicola's party," Habren said. "Father took me to the dress maker's yesterday, for the final fitting of my new gown, and it is so beautiful. It's the latest fashion from Orlais, much nicer than those high-waisted, dowdy Fereldan gowns the queen insists on wearing."

Tanith giggled. "Oh, Maker, isn't that the truth? I think it's silly how she refuses to wear anything foreign."

"Well," Habren sniffed, "it's not like we should expect anything better from someone of such common birth. We're probably lucky she remembers to comb her hair every day, really."

Across the courtyard, Bryce Cousland arrived, along with Rhianna and her hound. As Bryce greeted Delilah's father, Rhianna and her dog continued on into the garden.

"I wonder where Princess CousCous is going, all by herself," Thomas said, wrinkling his nose as though he'd just smelled something very unpleasant.

"No doubt she's going off somewhere to cry because she doesn't have any friends." Habren's voice had the particular sneer she reserved for comments about Rhianna Cousland.

"Oh, for the Maker's sake," Delilah said. "Why are the two of you so horrible about Rhianna? She's really quite nice, if you'd just give her a chance."

"That stuck up cow?" Habren raised an eyebrow. "There's nothing nice about Rhianna Cousland. She thinks she's better than all of us. You included, Delilah. And because everyone else thinks she so special too, all the rest of us suffer."

"Suffer? How have you ever suffered because of Rhianna Cousland?" Delilah asked.

"Haven't you noticed how none of us have had marriage proposals? My aunt says it's because of the Princess. All the eligible men in Ferelden are waiting for her to come of age, since her father refuses to force his 'precious' daughter into a marriage she doesn't want. Now she's seventeen, just watch. There will be a stampede as everyone tries to win her hand. And all this time, the rest of us have been sitting around waiting. Haven't you wondered why you're not married yet, in spite of being plenty old enough? The only girl in our generation who's gotten a husband is Alysanne, and that doesn't count because she was forced to marry that awful Bann Krole, who always knew there was no chance he'd be considered for Bryce Cousland's sainted daughter."

"Habren, that's ridiculous."

"It isn't ridiculous, really, when you think about it," Tanith replied. "Let's see." She counted off on her fingers, "Vaughan Kendalls, Adric Baranti, both of your brothers, Oswyn Davies, Watson and Timothy Wulff. Am I forgetting anyone?"

"What about Bann Loren's son, Dairren?" Habren added. "And Irminric Eremon. And he's a bit old, but Bann Teagan still isn't married, and Father says his bannric is lovely, on the shores of Lake Calenhad."

"Irminric doesn't count," Tanith replied. "I heard he joined the Templars."

"Eww." Habren grimaced. "No, if he's a templar, he doesn't count. But still, that's an awful lot of unmarried men. And all of them vying for the chance to snare the Princess, while we wait around for the leftovers."

"I certainly don't want to marry Rhianna," Thomas complained. "It's my father who's dead set on that. Nathaniel can have her for all I care, if Father ever lets him come home."

"Oh, good grief! Even if it's true, that's all just politics," Delilah argued. "It's hardly Rhianna's fault. Besides, I'm glad no one has asked Father for my hand yet. I'm in no hurry to be forced into a marriage with any of the people you mentioned. Habren, honestly, you're being awful. And you, too, Thomas."

"Yes, well," Thomas began, "you're just stupid Delilah. Everyone knows that." To Habren and Tanith, "Let's go see what the Princess is doing in the garden, shall we?"

"Thomas, don't," Delilah warned.

"Shut up, Delilah. Come with us, or don't, but keep quiet about things. Unless you want Father to know about Alfstan, or Edelbert, or whatever his name is." Thomas' smile was anything but friendly.

Delilah's stomach lurched. "You wouldn't dare."

If her father found out about Albert, a merchant she knew in Amaranthine, a merchant she liked very much and thought perhaps liked her as well, she'd be forbidden from ever seeing him again, and he'd probably be forced to leave Amaranthine forever.

"I won't have to, if you just keep your big mouth shut."

With that, Thomas led the way toward the palace garden, Habren and Tanith close behind.

Delilah hurried after them, a flutter of fear in her stomach for Rhianna's safety. Thomas had a look in his eye that so often meant trouble.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Loghain was nowhere to be seen when Rhianna arrived in the garden, so she settled herself to wait on a bench not far from the large fountain near the palace entrance. Dane picked up a scent in a hedge nearby, and poked his head underneath a hawthorne bush to investigate. Rhianna felt the touch of the mind of something smallish and furry, and a moment later a flash of russet fur streaked out from under the hedge: a red fox. With movements almost too quick to see, the fox scurried up onto the bench, sniffing at Rhianna's hand.

"Well, hello there," Rhianna said.

Dane came close, and the two animals touched noses in greeting. Then the fox looked up into Rhianna's face, and sniffed at her hand again.

"I'm sorry, love," she apologized. "I don't have any treats for you."

Oh! But she did have a bread dolly wrapped up in her pocket. It was meant to be thrown on the fire later that evening, but surely neither the Maker nor Andraste would mind if a tiny piece of it was missing.

"Hold on a moment . . . "

Rhianna unwrapped the dolly, and broke off one of its legs, offering it to the fox. The animal took it in her mouth gratefully, and Rhianna caught from the vixen's mind that she had a pair of kits her den, and was foraging out in the daytime in order to make enough milk to nurse them. Rhianna patted one of her legs, inviting the fox to come sit on her lap.

"Perhaps after you've finished that, we can go looking for a bit of something else for you to eat."

The animal stretched the front half of her body across Rhianna's lap, with her paws out in front of her, as she gnawed happily on the bit of bread. Dane settled down on the gravel nearby, looking suspiciously like he intended to nap, and Rhianna allowed her mind to wander.

Her thoughts traveled back to the previous day. In truth, she'd hardly thought of anything else since she and Loghain had parted the night before.

Yesterday had been the best day of her life. No other day could even compare. Kissing Loghain had been everything she had ever wanted, and nothing at all she could have expected. It had been strange and delightful, and she'd felt so awkward at first, but then he held her, and kissed her so slowly, so perfectly, she couldn't imagine how anything could feel better than being kissed by him.

Except she knew there were other things to come. Things she wanted, even though she couldn't quite picture them clearly in her mind. His lips on hers again, his hands on her skin, touching her . . . everywhere. Their bodies pressed together, even though the thought of it scared her.

She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, pushing those thoughts gently away, not wanting to be overwhelmed by these feelings, so many new and unfamiliar feelings.

Only one thing really mattered anyway: any minute now, Loghain would arrive, and she'd be able to kiss him again.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Standing in the shadows beneath a tree on the other side of the fountain, the four young people watched Rhianna invite a fox into her lap.

"What on earth is she doing?" Tanith asked.

"Hush," Habren warned. "Do you want her to hear us?"

"No, of course not." Tanith's voice was quiet now. "But why would the fox come to her like that?"

"She must have food in her pocket," Delilah suggested. Even so, it was unusual. Delilah had never seen a fox quite that tame before.

"Who cares what she's doing? Watch this." Thomas pulled a slingshot out of his pocket, and bent to pick up a rock the size of a walnut. "Hey, Habren, how much will you pay me if I can make Princess CousCous cry?"

Habren chuckled nastily. "I'd pay a whole sovereign to see that."

"Thomas!" Delilah kept her voice at a whisper, but put a hand on her brother's arm. "What is wrong with you? You can't possibly shoot that at her. You could kill her!" Rhianna had no idea they were even there; she'd closed her eyes and appeared to be deep in thought.

"I'm not going to shoot Rhianna, stupid." He yanked his arm away from her grasp. Then, taking careful aim, he released the pocket containing the rock. His aim was true, hitting his target exactly where he had intended.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Rhianna was lost in thought, gently stroking the fox's fur, when she heard a "pop," like the cracking of an eggshell. The fox lifted off her lap and flew toward her, then there was a clatter of stone against the gravel at her feet. She opened her eyes as Dane sprang to his feet. The fox lay on her side, still half in Rhianna's lap, but completely limp.

Something was very, very wrong.

Lifting the fox gently, Rhianna saw one side of the animal's head smashed in, a mass of blood and gore and bone. With a sharp intake of breath, she hugged the animal to her chest, feeling with her fingers for any sign of life.

There was none: no breath, no pulse, no movement. Nothing.

Dane crouched, growling at something in the middle of the path: a rock, red with blood and a small patch of russet-colored fur. Then he lifted his head, sniffing the air, and looked past the fountain.

Following the hound's gaze, Rhianna saw them: Thomas and Habren standing in the shade of a tree across the courtyard, laughing. Tanith and Delilah stood nearby, both girls' eyes wide, their faces completely pale.

Thomas held a slingshot in one hand.

Andraste's arse! Thomas killed the fox. He shot a rock at her, and killed her. And now he was laughing about it.

Tears threatened, but Rhianna blinked them back, allowing rage to flood through her instead.

Enough. She'd had enough. Of Thomas and Habren both. Of their mocking and their laughter and their cruelty. This time they had taken it too far, killing an innocent creature out of some sort of sadistic spite.

Laying the dead animal carefully on the bench, Rhianna crossed the garden, her hands clenching into fists. Dane was close at her heel, the fur bristling on his back.

Habren laughed even harder as Rhianna approached, but when he saw the look in her eye, Thomas' laughter died in his throat.

Rhianna stepped right up to him. "You miserable bastard."

He stumbled back a step, and Rhianna moved forward again, her face mere inches from his.

"You killed that fox." Her voice was quiet, but the intensity, the threat implied, was palpable. "You killed her, for no good reason. What in the Void is wrong with you?"

"Calm down, Rhianna. I was . . . I . . . I was just playing around. No need to get so bent out of shape." He took another step back.

Again, she closed the distance between them. "What makes you think I'm not calm?"

"Leave him alone, Princess," Habren chuckled. "Do you really think we're afraid of you? What are you going to do, run to Daddy?"

Rhianna turned to face Habren. "I don't need to run to my father."

Dane growled softly, and positioned himself close enough to attack if anyone moved to harm his mistress.

"Is that so?" Habren put one hand on her hip, obviously unimpressed with Rhianna's threat. "If that dog of yours so much as drools on any of us, I'll go straight to the king and make sure the beast is put down."

An empty threat, but even so, Rhianna had to fight back the urge to punch Habren in the face. "Dane isn't going to attack anyone. I'm perfectly capable of taking care of both of you without anyone's help."

Rhianna stared into Habren's eyes, unblinking, and for the first time, Habren's smile faltered. Another feeling bloomed in Rhianna's chest, along with the anger: determination, and the calm certainty she was finished with Habren and Thomas and their petty torments.

Because she would make them stop. Right now, today.

"The two of you have been horrible to me for years." Rhianna glanced at Thomas, then back to Habren. "Starting rumors, telling lies." She glanced at Tanith. "And you as well."

Tanith gasped, and took a step back, but Habren straightened to her full height. She was an inch or two taller than Rhianna, and leaned forward, as if to intimidate her rival.

"So what if we have? You're a stuck-up bitch, and you deserve anything bad that happens to you. Besides," she smirked, "who's to say the stories aren't true? As much time as you spend with Teyrn Loghain do you really expect us to believe you haven't been fucking him for years now?"

"I don't care what you believe," Rhianna replied. "What matters is you are going to stop. You're going to stop telling lies. And you are going to stop doing whatever it is you do to small animals."

Habren chuckled, although it sounded forced now, as though she were running on pure bravado. "And how, exactly, do you plan to force me to do anything?"

Rhianna stepped close, and when Habren tried to step back, Rhianna grabbed the sleeve of the other girl's gown. When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous.

"To be honest, I would get the most enjoyment out of beating both you and Thomas senseless."

Again, Habren tried to pull away, but Rhianna held tight to her sleeve, tugging at it and causing Habren to stumble closer. The girl's eyes were wide and frightened.

"You wouldn't dare hit me. You'd never get away something like that." Her voice trembled, though; clearly, she worried there was some chance Rhianna would, indeed, follow through with her threat of violence.

"Of course I could get away with it; I am the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever. Who are people more likely to believe, you or me? I'd say you started it, a plausible story, especially with a dead fox just across the courtyard, killed with Thomas' slingshot. For all I know, Thomas was aiming for me. I'd say that's provocation enough, wouldn't you agree?"

"Get your hands off of her," Thomas snarled, although he didn't step closer.

Rhianna ignored him. "But you don't have to worry about that, Habren. I'm not going to hit you. Because if I did, someone would just call for the healer, and you'd only suffer the few minutes it took Jocelyn to arrive. So, I'll have to think of a more permanent solution. Let's see . . . I could speak to your father. I have no doubt he would be interested in some of the things you get up to."

Except Habren wasn't really afraid of her father. There must be something else, something Habren would truly fear . . .

"No, wait. I've got a much better idea. You aren't the only one capable of starting rumors, you know. As it so happens, I'll be dining with Queen Anora later in the week. I wonder what would it take to get the lot of you banned from Denerim for another year? Or worse. Thrown in prison for treason, perhaps?"

Oh, Maker, had she really just said that? She never would have said such a thing if she'd thought it through first. She was so angry right now, it had just slipped out. But . . . perhaps it would work.

Was there any chance Habren would believe such a threat?

Looking at Habren - her eyes wide and frightened, her breath coming quickly through her mouth - Rhianna realized that, yes, Habren would believe it. If Rhianna looked the other woman in the eyes and made an actual threat, Habren would believe it. Telling destructive lies was exactly what Habren did whenever she thought she could get away with it, so she would easily believe someone else might do it to her.

And Rhianna had another advantage here, something Habren knew she herself would never have: the ear of the queen.

"It would be so easy for me," Rhianna began, holding Habren's gaze, "to let something slip during our lunch together. 'Your Majesty, I overheard Habren and Thomas talking. Something about a poison they hope to obtain from an Orlesian merchant in the marketplace. And after what happened at your wedding, with the bees . . .'"

Rhianna smiled prettily. "I expect Queen Anora will believe just about anything I tell her about you. You did sabotage her flowers, after all, and I can be very persuasive."

The color drained from Habren's face. "You wouldn't dare." Her voice shook, barely above a whisper.

"Are you willing to take that risk?"

Habren didn't respond. The others were silent, as well.

"That's what I thought. So here is what's going to happen. You will stop spreading rumors about me, and you will stop torturing animals. Because if I ever hear one word, even a whisper, that you have harmed another living creature . . ." Rhianna leaned forward and grasped both of the girl's arms, her face just inches from Habren's. "I will make sure you regret it for the rest of your miserable life."

"Leave her alone, Rhianna!" Thomas' voice was wound tight with tension.

Dane growled a warning, but Rhianna ignored Thomas' threat, still staring into Habren's eyes. Rhianna needed to be certain Habren understood completely that this was no joke.

"Do we have an understanding?"

Habren trembled, her breath ragged and gasping. A single tear escaped her eye and crawled down her cheek. Finally, she nodded. "I understand."

But Thomas wasn't so willing to concede. "I said, leave her alone!"

Rhianna saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Simultaneously, Thomas darted forward, and Dane crouched as if to leap at the boy.

"Dane, stay down!" Rhianna commanded, as Thomas grabbed Rhianna's arm, yanking her away from Habren, and pushing Rhianna backward, almost hard enough to knock her off her feet.

With a calm grounded in years of training, Rhianna recovered quickly, and strode forward. Pulling back her arm, she swung, her balled-up fist striking the center of Thomas' face. With a cracking sound, soft and wet, the young man howled in pain, stumbling back and falling on his arse.

"Rhianna!"

The voice belonged to Rhianna's father, but she ignored it. Thomas had attacked her, which gave her free reign to defend herself. And there was no part of her that did not welcome this opportunity.

She stood over Thomas' prone body.

"Get up, you worthless bastard, so I can hit you again."

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

As Loghain passed through the palace courtyard, he was greeted by Bryce Cousland and Rendon Howe. Unfortunately, when Loghain mentioned he was on his way to the garden, the two men decided to join him. Loghain would much rather have met Rhianna without any additional company; if he'd been smart, he would have entered the garden from the great hall, where it was unlikely he would have run into anyone. But, it was too late for that now, so together, the three men left the courtyard, and entered the royal garden on one of the paved paths near the palace itself.

Right away, it was apparent the usual calm of the place was being disturbed. Somewhere nearby, a man shouted. A memory flashed through Loghain's mind: Rhianna hurtling toward him out of the darkness after being attacked by Vaughan Kendalls. That, too, had happened in this very garden.

Loghain quickened his pace.

As the three men hurried toward the fountain, they discovered the source of the disruption: a group of five young people, Rhianna among them. Rhianna had hold of Habren's arms, and Thomas stood nearby, fists clenched.

What in the Maker's name?

Before the men could intervene, Thomas shouted again.

"I said, leave her alone!"

He charged at Rhianna, pushing her back. She recovered quickly, and without any hesitation, moved forward and punched him squarely in the face. Thomas fell to the ground, and put his face in his hands.

"Rhianna!" Bryce called out, as he and Loghain both rushed forward.

Rhianna stepped close to Thomas, and said something Loghain couldn't quite make out. She was clearly upset: her shoulders tense, her legs bent at the knees, her hands balled up into fists. She looked ready to fight, perhaps even to kick the boy bent over on the ground.

Loghain ran up behind her, grasping her shoulders, and pulling her back a step.

She jerked away from him, turning to assess this new threat, but when she looked into his face, some of the tension went out of her body. Her mouth fell open, her breath slightly faster than usual, but she looked relieved. There were spatters of blood on her face, and a large dark stain on her dress, just above one of her breasts, and smaller spots across her belly. Fear, cold and heavy, settled into his stomach.

"Are you injured?" Slightly panicked, Loghain examined the bloodstained fabric, feeling for a wound underneath.

"No. It's not my blood." She met his eyes, and there was something there he'd never seen before: fury, and determination. Clearly something had happened with Thomas and Habren. It appeared Rhianna finally had enough of their abuse. But what was the explanation for the blood?

"What in the Maker's name happened here?" Bryce asked.

"What happened?" Rendon Howe's expression was livid. "What happened is that your daughter is a menace! We all saw the same thing, didn't we? She punched Thomas in the face! You can't ignore this any longer, Bryce. Something has to be done about that girl."

Howe glared at Rhianna, and she stood straighter, holding the man's gaze and lifting her chin defiantly.

"The blood on Rhianna's dress didn't come from your son's broken nose," Loghain said. He turned to Rhianna. "Whose blood is it?"

"Hers." Rhianna pointed to the bench on the other side of the fountain, where a small furred body lay motionless. "A fox. She'd come out of the hedge, asking for food. She was sitting on my lap. We weren't doing anything, she wasn't hurting anyone. We were just sitting. And then Thomas," she spat, glaring down at the boy, "shot her with a rock. For no reason!"

"No reason?" Rendon Howe took a step toward Rhianna. "He doesn't need a reason for shooting a fox. Foxes are vermin; they kill livestock and spread disease. Using one for target practice is a public service. Hardly an excuse for you to attack my son." His fist clenched, as though he meant to strike her, but rather than moving away, Rhianna stepped forward, almost as though she welcomed the chance to defend herself from a physical attack.

Before Howe could move closer, Bryce stepped between them.

"I don't care for your tone, Rendon," Bryce said. "I hardly consider it appropriate 'target practice,' for your son to shoot an animal sitting in my daughter's lap. What if he had missed? He could have injured Rhianna, even killed her."

"Besides," Delilah said, stepping out from behind Habren for the first time. "He didn't do it for 'target practice.'"

"Shut up, Delilah." Habren grabbed at the Howe girl's arm.

Delilah shook off Habren's hand. "No. You've gone too far this time." She glanced at her father, then met Bryce's gaze. "They didn't care about the fox. They just wanted to torment Rhianna."

"Deliah," Rendon warned. "That's enough."

Without looking at her father, Delilah shook her head. "Habren offered to pay Thomas a sovereign if he could do something to make 'Princess CousCous' cry. That's why he killed the fox."

"Delilah!" The threat in Howe's voice was palpable. "I said be quiet."

"No, Father. Not this time. It's one thing for them to make up dirty songs and tell lies about her and pin threatening letters to her bedroom door, but this is different. They went too far this time."

"A sovereign?" Rhianna sounded disgusted, looking down at Thomas. "You killed her for a sovereign? I should . . . " Rhianna started to move toward Thomas again, but Loghain grabbed her shoulders, holding her back.

"Rhianna," he murmured, close to her ear. She turned her face part way toward him, not enough to look up at him, but enough he knew she'd gotten the message. _Not now. Not like this._

She nodded, and he felt some of the tension slip from her body.

Bryce turned to Rendon. "What do you intend to do about this? It sounds as though your son and Leonas' daughter," he glanced at Habren, "have been making a career out of harassing Rhianna."

"Why should I be expected to do anything?" Howe snapped. "Clearly, the girl knows how to defend herself. As long as you don't mind her throwing her fist at the slightest provocation. Just let her take care of herself and woe betide anyone who crosses her."

"I'd hardly call this a 'slight provocation,'" Bryce said stiffly.

"It's all right, Father." Rhianna's voice was remarkably calm. "I don't think any of them," she stared at Thomas, Habren and Tanith each in turn, "are going to bother me anymore. Are you? After all, I am having lunch next week with the queen."

Rhianna's tone was neutral, but the reference to Anora had a profound effect on the young people present. Neither Thomas nor Tanith met Rhianna's eye, and Habren shuddered, her head twitching to one side. Something had indeed happened here, and Rhianna seemed to have the upper hand now.

"I want to know what is going to be done about your daughter," Rendon Howe fumed. "Perhaps the death of some random animal in the garden might have been upsetting, but it hardly gives her an excuse for attacking Thomas. This isn't the first time she's broken his nose, and I want some assurance it will be the last."

"Perhaps you didn't arrive in time to see," Rhianna retorted, directly to Howe, "but Thomas struck me first. Just as he did the last time."

"And yet," Howe spat back, "you appear to be uninjured, while Thomas lies bleeding on the ground."

"You can't possibly defend your son's actions here, Howe," Loghain said. "If I'd seen Thomas kill that animal while it sat in Rhianna's lap, I'd have broken more than his nose. Besides, are you so certain Anora and Cailan will agree there is nothing wrong with killing 'random animals' in their palace garden?"

Howe's eyes narrowed as he turned them on Loghain. He glanced around at the faces of the others assembled. Then his eyes shifted between Loghain and Rhianna, and then back to Loghain.

He smiled, a thin, unpleasant thing hardly deserving of the word.

"Yes, perhaps you're right, Mac Tir." He looked down at his son. "Firing a slingshot in the palace garden was a remarkably stupid thing to do." He paused, glancing at Habren and Tanith. "And if the lot of you have been . . . unkind to Rhianna, I expect it to stop."

"As for consequences," Bryce added, "it seems to me both of them have suffered in equal measure. Perhaps we can just leave it at that?"

"Of course," Howe said, his lips twitching as he helped his son to his feet. "Let's go look for the healer. Again. Girls, come along."

As Howe led the way out of the garden, Loghain reached up, using his thumb to wipe a speck of blood off Rhianna's face.

"Are you sure you're all right, Pup?" Bryce asked. "That's a lot of blood. You really weren't injured?"

"I'm fine, I promise. Thomas pushed me, that's all." Her back was still stiff, her posture confident, defiant even, as she watched the retreating forms of Howe and the four youths trailing behind him. But when she looked at her father's face, at the worry etched plainly into his features, her shoulders drooped slightly.

"I am sorry Father. I know I probably shouldn't have hit him. But I was so . . . shocked. And angry. They killed her. For no reason. No reason at all. And I've had enough of them over the years, I suppose this was just the last straw."

Bryce ran a hand across his face, sighing. "You don't need to apologize, Rhianna. Loghain's right. I'd have hit the boy as well." Then his gaze lingered on the dark bloodstain. "You do need to go home though, and change your gown. You can't spend the rest of the day wearing that one."

"Of course. But not just yet." She turned to Loghain. "She had kits. Somewhere here in the garden. We have to find them. They're still nursing, and they'll die without their mother."

"I'll help you," Loghain assured her. Then he turned to Bryce, "And I'll be happy to accompany her back to Highever House as well, Bryce, and then to festival once she's changed clothes."

"All right," Bryce agreed. "I should probably try and smooth things over with Rendon. I have no idea what got into young Thomas." Shaking his head, he walked away.

When her father was out of earshot, Rhianna muttered, "I know what got into Thomas. He's a despicable arse, and he always has been."

Loghain took her face in his hands, studying her closely, reassuring himself she hadn't been injured. She still had a few spatters of blood on her face, and the stain on her dress . . . how ill he had felt when he thought it was her blood.

He might have killed the boy if Rhianna had genuinely been hurt.

"Should I have not hit him? I don't want to make trouble with Arl Howe. He and Father have been friends for years and years. Maybe I should have just . . ."

"No," Loghain assured her. "You can't allow someone like Thomas to get away something like that. You did the right thing." He raised a brow. "And what was that about having lunch with Anora? Just what was said before you threw the punch? Habren in particular looked terrified."

"Hah. Yes, that," Rhianna chuckled. "It's possible I might have threatened her. Implied I would tell Anora that Habren and Thomas were plotting to poison her."

"Did you really?"

"Oh, yes, I did. Honestly, I would never tell a lie like that, for Anora's sake more than theirs, but Habren seemed to believe me, probably because it's the sort of thing she would do if given half a chance." Rhianna's brow creased. "Maker, I hope that doesn't mean the two of them really are plotting such a thing." She let out a breath. "I swear, I could believe Habren capable of almost any horrid thing."

"I doubt we need worry about Thomas and Habren planning an assassination attempt. Especially since Anora has eyes all over the city, and some of them are regularly trained on Habren Bryland, after the incident with the bees."

"Really? Habren's being spied upon?"

"Not constantly, but from time to time, yes."

Rhianna let out a merry peal of laughter. "I think that might be the best thing I have ever heard! And smart, no doubt. Habren really isn't to be trusted. Although I do hope she got the message today. Not only to leave me alone, but to stop harming small animals as well."

"Speaking of small animals," Loghain replied, taking one of her hands, "let's find those young foxes, shall we?"

With Dane bringing up the rear, they searched the garden. It took only a few minutes for Rhianna to sense the presence of the two small kits, nestled snug in the burrow their mother had dug into the ground along a far edge of the garden. When Rhianna pulled them out of the den, they mewled at her softly. They were so small their eyes were barely open.

"They're too young to eat solid food yet," she said, passing one of them into Loghain's open palm. "We'll need to find a foster mother for them." She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed in thought. "A cat would probably be best, but I don't think any of the cats at the Highever estate have kittens right now."

"There might be kittens at Gwaren House. I seem to recall some suspicious noises coming from near one of the garden arbors."

At the Gwaren estate, they discovered Loghain's suspicion had been correct. There was indeed a cat nursing kittens out in the garden. It didn't take much effort for Rhianna to convince the mother to allow the foxes to suckle from her, after being assured food would be placed outside for her by the cook twice a day.

Soon, Rhianna and Loghain made their way to Highever House so Rhianna could change her clothing. With a promise to be back down in just a few minutes, Rhianna went upstairs, leaving Loghain and Dane in the library.

Loghain scratched the dog behind his ears for several minutes, then wandered around the room, looking idly at the titles of books on the shelves. As he passed a table against the wall, he glanced down. Realizing he was standing in front of Bryce's desk, Loghain looked away out of respect for the man's privacy, but not before he saw an opened letter: the invitation to Bann Nicola Baranti's "Grand Ball" later in the week.

Loghain, too, had received an invitation. In the past the Grand Ball was the sort of event he tended to avoid. But this year, Rhianna would be there. So, Loghain would be there, as well.

He heard someone come into the room.

Rhianna. Her face was damp and free of blood spatters, and she'd changed into a dark green gown with a brocade panel down the center.

She looked beautiful.

Smiling, she closed the door behind her, turning the key in the lock.

"No one else is in the house," she said. "They've all gone to the festival, even the servants. Still, I thought perhaps I should lock the door?" She walked up to him, and put her hands on his shoulders. "Is this one of the times when you're going to kiss me, or shall I go first?"

He slipped one of his hands around the back of her neck. "This is one of the times when I'm going to kiss you."

They came together with a passion exceeding that of the previous day. Rhianna's mouth was eager beneath his, and she slid her arms around him, running her fingers across his shoulders, massaging them gently. He allowed his free hand to roam across her back, and then down, sliding past her hip and cupping her bottom. Her tongue slid across his lip and then deep into his mouth, and his body began to respond.

He moved his hand up her torso again, resting for a moment on the curve of her waist. Then slowly, tentatively, prepared to stop if she tensed beneath him, he slid his hand up over her ribs, and then across one of her breasts, allowing its weight to settle into his palm. She sighed, and relaxed into him.

Maker's blood, she felt good.

Through the thick fabric of her gown, he ran a thumb across her nipple. She gasped, the sound disappearing into his mouth, as she kissed him even more fully. Her hands gripped his back, trying to pull him closer, even though there was no space left between them. He was hard now, and the feel of her body, her warmth pressing against him through layers of fabric was almost more than he could bear.

He kissed the curve of her jaw, and then, as she arched her back, letting her head tilt away from him, he placed gentle kisses down her neck until he reached her collarbone. Again, he let his thumb slide across the top of her nipple. She moaned, and a shudder ran through her body.

Finding her mouth again, he kissed her, and she returned the kiss as though she were starving for him. She leaned against him, as though her legs had grown weak, and his legs, too, were shaky. His arousal was intense, almost uncomfortably so. With great effort, he pulled away from her, holding her up by her shoulders so he could look into her face.

Confusion stole across her features. "Is something wrong?" she asked, panting, her lips bright red from his pressing against them.

"Nothing is wrong," he breathed. "I just . . . have to stop."

"Stop?" Her brow furrowed. "Why? Did I do something . . . wrong?"

"Hardly," he chuckled. "Quite the opposite, in fact. I just need to stop . . . not forever, just for a few minutes." He cradled her face in his hands. "If we keep going, I will get to the point . . . my body will get to the point where I won't be able to stop."

She frowned softly. She really was so very innocent; it was possible she had no idea what he was talking about.

Then, her eyes grew wide.

"Oh," she whispered. "You mean . . ." She glanced away, embarrassed, and then met his eyes again. "I think I know what you mean." Then she bit her lip. "But we don't have to stop. You . . . don't have to stop. We're alone in the house. If you . . . want me," she said slowly, almost stuttering, "then," she swallowed once, before continuing, "if you want me, we . . . we can do anything you like."

The expression on her face was so earnest, so sincere, it was clear she meant what she said. And Loghain wanted her, he wanted her desperately, so much his body ached from wanting her.

Blessed Andraste. He could have her. He could pull Rhianna into his arms, carry her upstairs to her bedroom, and do all the things he had spent the past month imagining. He could kiss her, and caress her, make certain she knew as much pleasure as he was capable of giving.

But . . . there was fear in her eyes as well. In spite of her offer, she wasn't ready for this. Not yet.

"No," he replied. "I don't want anything from you you're not ready to give."

She breathed in, as though she intended to protest, but he shook his head, looking directly into her eyes.

"No, Rhianna. There's no hurry. You and I, we have all the time in the world ahead of us. And this is something that should not be rushed. Tell me the truth. Do you really want this? Do you really want me to make love to you right now? Today?"

She took a deep breath, and let it out again. "I do want you. I know I do. I've always known I want my first time to be with you." Her gaze slid away, and she looked down at the floor. "That I want all my times to be with you." Her nose wrinkled, and she waited a moment before meeting his eyes again. "I am scared, though. Not scared of you; I could never be afraid of you. It's just the thought of doing . . . it . . . scares me."

Maker. Rhianna was so lovely, so honest, so . . . precious. All he wanted was to spend the rest of his life making her happy. He would speak to Bryce, as soon as the opportunity arose. Well, of course, he would ask Rhianna first, but he had little doubt now as to what her answer would be.

Loghain pulled her into his embrace, stroking her hair as she curled up against him. "It's all right to be scared, love. Like I said, there's no hurry. We'll wait. Until you want this as much as I do."

"All right." She paused. "You really don't mind waiting?"

"I don't mind at all."

She wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him as she pressed her cheek against his chest.

After a long moment, he put a hand under her chin, and lifted her face to his. He kissed her lips again, but this time with nothing of urgency, but only of tenderness. As much tenderness as he could muster.

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Funalis was originally dedicated to the Old God Dumat. But when Dumat fell out of favor, after being awakened by darkspawn and leading them throughout the First Blight, the Chantry appropriated the holiday, claiming it had only ever been a commemoration of Andraste's martyrdom by the Tevinter Imperium. It was also a time to honor the dead, particularly those who died during the previous twelvemonth, and help them make their way to the side of the Maker.

For the people of Ferelden, however, in spite of the Chantry's insistence on hymns and prayers and solemnity, Funalis was first and foremost a celebration of the harvest: of successfully bringing in the crops that would sustain them throughout the cold winter ahead. A time of letting go of regrets for the past, and making wishes for the future.

This year's harvest was particularly worth celebrating; the weather had been wet and mild, and crops were bountiful across the land. The promise of fully bellies throughout the winter put people in a festive mood.

By the time Loghain and Rhianna returned to the royal palace, the Blessing Ceremony was already underway. Farmers carried baskets of food they had grown - apples and peaches, corn and oats, potatoes and turnips and carrots – and processed past King Cailan and Queen Anora to receive a blessing. Nearby, buskers performed, singing and dancing for coins the audience would throw, and a few merchants had set up kiosks for selling food and trinkets.

Rhianna was quickly swept up into the festive atmosphere. She was already feeling so happy she feared she might burst from it. The time she and Loghain had spent in the library had been perfect; today's kisses had been even better than yesterday's. And Loghain . . . he was the kindest, gentlest, most wonderful man in all the world. Only one thing could have improved her mood: if she could have taken Loghain's arm, or held his hand, right out in public. It was too soon for that, though. No sense in starting gossip when they would be betrothed soon. For surely, that was what Loghain intended: to ask her father for her hand in marriage. He'd said they had all the time in the world to be together. What else could that possibly mean?

One thing that might have put a damper on her good mood was the altercation she'd had earlier with Habren and Thomas. Surprisingly, though, Rhianna felt no anxiety about it, and certainly no regrets. If anything, she regretted not standing up to them long ago. She'd have gladly punched Thomas a dozen times over, if that's what it took to get the point across.

She did worry, a bit, about how Uncle Leonas would respond. He was, after all, extremely protective of his daughter, and tended not to see the full extent of her faults. But when Rhianna greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, he appeared to know nothing of what happened earlier in the garden.

"Hello, my darling girl." Leonas' smile was as bright as usual. "I trust you're enjoying your day." At his side, Habren stood with her shoulders slumped, and refused to meet Rhianna's gaze. This was a welcome change; far better than the sneer with which Rhianna had always been greeted in the past.

"I am indeed enjoying my day," Rhianna replied. "And you?"

"Oh yes, you know, the usual. Trying to pace myself so I don't get so drunk before sunset I'm unable to enjoy the festivities. It wouldn't do for me to topple over into the bonfire tonight, now, would it?" He winked at her; they both knew Leonas was never one to abuse drink.

His eyes narrowed. "Is it my imagination, or is that a different gown than you were wearing earlier in the day?"

"A different gown?" She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, Uncle Leonas, this is a bad sign, isn't it? They do say the eyesight is the first thing to go when old age strikes." Then it was her turn to wink. "I'm just teasing," she laughed. "You're not old at all, and you're right. It is a different gown. I had a bit of a . . . mishap in the palace garden, and soiled the one I was wearing earlier." She glanced at Habren, whose eyes had grown wide and round.

"A mishap?" Leonas grinned. "Knowing you, it will have involved some sort of small creature. Tell me what happened. Did you crawl under one of the hedges after some mice? Or perhaps you lost your balance while feeding the ducks, and fell into the pond? I've been expecting that to happen for years now, you know."

Rhianna laughed appreciatively. "Something like that." Again she glanced at Habren, whose face was now completely pale. It would serve her right if Rhianna told Leonas the truth. But for his sake, she kept quiet. It was one thing to spoil Habren's holiday; Rhianna had no desire to spoil Leonas' day as well. "It's possible there was a pair of fox kits who lost their mother. Loghain and I relocated them to Gwaren House, where one of his garden cats will foster them. And then Loghain was kind enough to escort me home and wait for me while I changed."

"Saving baby foxes." Leonas chuckled, clasping her on the arm. "You've a good heart, my love. Better than most, I'd say."

"Thank you, Uncle. I could say the same about you." And it was true. Leonas was a wonderful man; it was something of a mystery how he'd managed to produce such a horrid daughter.

Rhianna glanced around. "Have you seen Father? I thought he'd be here with you. I haven't seen him since Loghain and I returned from Highever House."

"No, not recently," Leonas replied. "Which is annoying, come to think of it. I'd expected him to come find me around lunchtime; we'd talked about dining together. Last I saw him, he was going off somewhere with Rendon. The two of them . . ." His voice trailed off, and his brow furrowed.

"What about the two of them?"

"Oh, I don't know." He shrugged. "I'm sure it's nothing. It's just that the two of them seem rather . . . secretive lately. As if there's something going on Bryce hasn't told me about. Normally I would just ask, but to be honest I've barely had five minutes to spend with your father alone lately. You don't know anything about it, do you?"

"No. He has seemed distracted lately, but he hasn't said anything to me."

"Heh. Well, I'm sure it's nothing. Most likely, it's just Rendon being . . . well, Rendon. He's never content unless he's got something to complain about."

That was certainly true enough.

A few minutes later, Leonas and Habren wandered off in search of Harriet, and Loghain and Rhianna continued toward the market square, to explore all the city had to offer for Funalis.

They tasted traditional treats - pastries and meat pies and corn cooked right on the cob - and listened to a ballad about Aveline, the Orlesian woman who competed in the Grand Tourney dressed as a man, back in the days when women were not allowed to take up arms. Rhianna handed out pennies to the children who ran about underfoot, dressed as ghosts and demons and darkspawn and werewolves. It was said these little guisers scared away any evil spirits that might linger at this time of year, when the Veil between the worlds was the thinnest.

As night fell, they prepared for the candlelight procession, a vigil for those who died during the year. Loghain lit his candle from Rhianna's and they walked side by side through the city streets, singing the chant meant to help the dead pass through the Veil, and find their place at the Maker's side.

Near midnight, as many people as the square could hold converged on the Denerim marketplace, surrounding the huge bonfire that burned there. When a woman in the crowd lifted her voice to sing one of the traditional songs of the harvest, Rhianna could finally take Loghain's hand in her own, as the crowd joined hands to dance in a circle around the fire.

_Your hay it is mow'd and your corn it is reap'd  
__Your barns will be full and your hovels heap'd  
__Come, boys, come, Come, boys, come  
__And merrily roar out our harvest home_

_We've cheated the sister, we'll cheat her again  
__For why should the Chantry have one in ten?  
__One in ten, one in ten  
__Oh, why should the Chantry have one in ten?_

_We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand  
__And heigh for the honor of Ferelden  
__Ferelden, Ferelden  
__And heigh for the honor of Ferelden._

_We've mixed and we've kneaded, our bread we did bake  
__Of wheat from the harvest our dollies did make  
__Dollies did make, dollies did make  
__Of wheat from the harvest our dollies did make_

_Now onto the fire, we throw them with glee  
__And ask that they carry our wishes to thee  
__Wishes to thee, wishes to thee  
__Oh, Maker, they carry our wishes to thee_

As the strains of the final chorus died away, with Loghain at her side, Rhianna prepared to throw her bread dolly onto the fire. This was a time for letting go of regrets from the past year, but Rhianna could think of nothing she regretted. Everything that happened had led her to this moment, and this moment was perfect.

As for the future, her plans and her wishes, there was only one thing she wanted, and she felt certain it would come to pass. She closed her eyes and pictured it: kneeling beside Loghain in front of the altar in the Chantry, the Grand Cleric saying prayers above them.

Then she tossed her dolly into the flames, and smiled up at Loghain. The corners of his mouth turned up as he, too, threw the dolly he had made onto the fire. Perhaps he had wished for the same thing.

One thing was certain: Rhianna would always remember this particular Funalis day as a bright beginning for her and for Loghain. The beginning of their life together.

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Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta, Psyche Sinclair, as well as to my lovely reviewers: Kira Tamarion, KatDancer2, SwomeeSwan, KrystylSky, Cotton Strings, Shadowfang, DjinnieGenie, Milly-finalfantasy, Serena R. Snape, GLCW2, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Tyrannosaurustex, SecretWriter8910, Mialiah, Skidney, and a Guest.

"Harvest Home" is a traditional song of the harvest, sung after the last sheaves of grain were brought in from the fields. The chorus is the last few lines of each verse, so as long as one person knows the song, everyone present can sing along. I have recorded my own version, which you can listen to by following the Extra's link on my profile. That is also where you will find dollmaker images of both of Rhianna's gowns.

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	53. Bandits and darkspawn and werewolves?

_**1 August, 9:29 Dragon  
Royal Palace, Denerim**_

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"Do you think Cailan will accept King Endrin's invitation to visit Orzammar?"

Rhianna's father considered Leonas Bryland's question. "It's not a bad idea. Several years have passed since a Fereldan monarch visited the dwarven city. No doubt, establishing closer relations with the dwarves would be wise."

Rhianna took a sip of her wine. It was a quite nice red wine from Antiva, fruity and layered. It seemed King Cailan and Queen Anora had spared no expense in provisioning this year's banquet, an event traditionally held at the end of the opening session of the Landsmeet. Rhianna was seated between her father and Leonas Bryland; Loghain, Urien Kendalls, and Gordon Curwen sat across the table. Curwen was the bann of Drakon River, a small bannric very near Denerim, and Rhianna didn't know the man well; she was, of course, better acquainted with his daughter Tanith.

Unsurprisingly, the discussion focused on the happenings of the Landsmeet that day, which Rhianna had found interesting at times, dull at others, and occasionally delightfully exciting.

The arrival of the dwarven emissary had been one of the exciting moments.

He had come into the hall flanked by a pair of guards, and with each step their weapons clanked against what was undeniably magnificent armor: massive, with straight lines and a blocky, geometric shape unlike any Rhianna had seen in Ferelden. Even from across the hall, it was apparent the quality of the metalsmithing was superb.

"Atrast vala," the dwarf greeted the king and queen, his deep voice booming throughout the hall. "I bring greetings from King Endrin, and the Deshyrs of Orzammar. Our king would like to extend an invitation for the King and Queen of Ferelden to visit our glorious city, to renew the friendship between your people and mine, as well as to discuss the darkspawn who inhabit the Deep Roads. They have diverged from their usual movement patterns in the past few months, and the king thinks it wise to bring this to the attention of those on the surface. A similar invitation will be extended to the Orlesian empress, as our Deep Roads extend under her domain as well."

Cailan had promised to meet with the emissary later, in private, appearing quite pleased by the invitation.

"It will be difficult to arrange a visit this year," Bryce continued. "Cailan would need to get to Orzammar and back well before the onset of winter; the Frostbacks can't be safely traveled once the snows start falling. So I suspect any journey of that sort will need to be delayed until Drakonis at the earliest."

"You've a good point about the weather," Urien Kendalls agreed. Kendalls was a beefy man with grey hair long enough to brush the collar of his shirt. His face was clean-shaven and slightly puffy, his hooded eyes giving him the look of a man who had just awoken from a nap. "I suppose that's not a consideration for dwarves; they don't have to worry about blizzards and thunderstorms, do they? They can travel freely through their Deep Roads any time of the year."

"Not freely," Loghain said. "Darkspawn still roam the Deep Roads. They've driven the dwarves out of all but two of their thaigs. There is no such thing as traveling 'freely' below ground."

This reminded Rhianna of a question she'd had during the emissary's speech. "He mentioned the darkspawn had recently changed their movements. I wonder how that's affecting the dwarves. Or if perhaps it means the darkspawn are coming to the surface?"

"I very much doubt we'll see darkspawn on the surface, my dear." Leonas put a comforting hand on Rhianna's arm. "It's been four hundred years since they've caused any real problems. Above ground," he amended, with a glance at Loghain.

"Exactly," Kendalls agreed. "They only come to the surface during a blight. If there were anywhere near enough of them to stage an attack of that scale, they'd have done it long before now. My guess is the dwarves want the king to agree to new trade concessions. What better way to start a conversation than create some scare about a darkspawn threat to Ferelden?"

"But something strange is going on here," Gordon Curwen began. He ran a hand through his closely cropped dark hair, and then smoothed his beard thoughtfully. "My understanding is that darkspawn sometimes raid on the surface, even outside of a blight. I'll admit, I was alarmed by the number of mysterious disappearances reported today. Perhaps we shouldn't rule out the possibility there is some connection."

It was true; several banns had spoken of people vanishing without a trace. Wagons found abandoned in the middle of the road near White River and Lothering. Entire farmholds empty near West Hills and Winter's Breath. Hunters who went off in search of game and never returned home, at least a dozen reports in the Hinterlands, the Southron Hills and the lower reaches of the Bannorn. In all case, no dead bodies had been found, and no indication of where these people may have gone.

"The emissary mentioned Orlais," Bryce replied, "so I assume whatever the darkspawn are doing is taking place in the north, and to the west. The disappearances all seemed to be centered in the south. All things considered, it seems highly unlikely there could be any connection with darkspawn."

Urien Kendalls sat back in his chair, and threw back the rest of his wine. "Indeed. There's no chance darkspawn are running about Ferelden without anyone having seen them." He chuckled. "It seems far more likely werewolves were involved, especially after that rather dramatic account given by Renata Tremaine. Not that I believed a word of her story, either. Werewolves suddenly attacking Vintiver, and no one had seen them until now?"

"Werewolves managed to live in secret in the Coastlands," Rhianna replied, pushing back a creeping dread that accompanied the memory of the creatures she and Loghain had faced. "They lived in the area for years and years - decades, at least - without anyone knowing they were there until they attacked Highever during the Festival of Wolves a few years ago."

"I don't think anything like that is likely to happen again, my love." Leonas reached over again, and put his hand on her arm, rubbing gently with his thumb. "You needn't worry about werewolves or darkspawn or anything else." He turned to Loghain. "The report you made indicated Ferelden's standing armies are more than adequate to defend against these sorts of internal troubles, isn't that right?"

"Yes," Loghain agreed. "Every corner of Ferelden seems to have soldiers enough to quell local disturbances."

"Tell that to Valudur Krole," Curwen chuckled.

Oh yes. That had been the other bit of excitement. First thing in the morning, a man wearing a dark blue doublet and trews strode to the front of the great hall of the Denerim palace, and bowed low before the king and queen. He introduced himself as Devon Trumhall, and then announced he was the new bann of the Ruswold.

"I am indeed curious about what happened down in the Ruswold," Leonas said. "The people ousting the old bann and electing a new one? When was the last time something like that even happened?"

"Not since before the Occupation," Bryce replied.

"All I know," Loghain began, "is that when I visited the Ruswold earlier in the year - about five months ago - there was no talk of bandit attacks, especially none so virulent Krole's men couldn't have wiped them out. And there was no indication the populous was unhappy with Krole, certainly not enough to elect someone to replace him."

"Does anyone know anything at all about this Trumhall fellow?" Curwen asked.

"Never heard of the man," Rhianna's father replied. "He spoke well enough, though."

"That he did," Loghain said. "But Krole is a good man. He was with us at White River. It makes no sense he would be unable to handle some bandit attacks on his own."

Loghain reached for his goblet, lifting it to take a sip of wine, and Rhianna couldn't help but notice the muscles of his upper arm, the way they were clearly defined as they pulled against the fabric of his shirt. The gap at his neckline, where the laces were partially undone. The curve of his neck. She imagined pressing her lips to the center of his throat, or perhaps just below his ear. Running her hands across his chest, the muscles taut beneath her palms. Warmth blossomed deep inside her, a pleasant but highly distracting sensation.

"Eh, bandits and darkspawn and werewolves?" Urien Kendalls mention of darkspawn, and the dismissive wave of his hand, pulled Rhianna back from her reverie. "And that business in the Brecilian Forest, with Dalish elves falling ill? Again, I say this is just people wanting to create a scare, in order to drum up support before asking for money. No doubt, Arl Neruda will try and make the most of all these rumors when it comes time to fund this new fort of his down in Sothmere. If he can convince people the Chasind are to blame for any of this, money will pour in, from Redcliffe and West Hills, at least."

"Ah, but what peril will Alfstanna use to raise money for building more ships?" Leonas turned to Loghain. "Or do you intend to argue against her when she brings up the subject of expanding the navy, as she promised to do later in the week?"

"Of course I'll argue against her. The treasury is in no shape to spend such quantities on ships, not when funds are still needed to improve our standing armies, and strengthen defenses along the border with Orlais.

"I expected no less from you, Loghain." Leonas grinned. "To be honest, I was surprised Alfstanna brought it up. Her father's only been dead a few months. I'd have thought she'd approach her first Landsmeet as bann somewhat more . . . quietly."

"Alfstanna's always been one to speak her mind," Bryce said. "And she's got a good head on her shoulders. Improving the navy has been on her mind for a long time, so it's small wonder she took this opportunity to promote the idea."

"Frankly, I'm far more interested in this business with the Merchants' Guild," Kendalls replied. "Nothing else stands to affect our day-to-day lives even half as much. If craftspeople in Denerim and Dragon's Peak are allowed to form their own guilds, it will have a far-reaching effect on commerce throughout Ferelden, and we need think it through carefully before making any changes to the system."

"Agreed," Bryce replied. "I would expect the price of crafted goods to go down, which I assume most people would see as a benefit."

Curwen shook his head. "Perhaps, but I worry that quality will suffer, without a strong guild to enforce high standards."

Loghain leaned forward. "I would love nothing more than to see the Guild's stranglehold broken, for once and for all. Let the craftspeople themselves determine what they do and how they do it, rather than living under the thumb of the Orlesian bastards who control the Guild."

"Orlesian bastards?" Leonas raised a brow. "Don't you think that's a bit of an overstatement? Most of the guild members are as Fereldan as you and I."

"The guild members, yes. But you know as well as I do that the Guild is run by Orlesian expatriates who stayed here after the Rebellion. Most of them members of the Restorationists."

"Restorationists?" Rhianna had not heard this term before.

"The Society for the Restoration of Imperial Rule," Loghain replied. "Orlesians who were stripped of the lands they were granted by Meghren. When the Occupation ended, some of them chose to remain in Ferelden anyway. Against my council, Maric compensated them for the lands they had 'lost,' giving them resources to start up businesses. Most became merchants. Now, it's difficult to tell who they are; without exception, they set aside their accents and took names that sound Fereldan. And they run the Merchants' Guild."

This was alarming. "Are they really trying to put Orlais back in power?" Rhianna asked.

"Of course. Some of them, anyway. Although, admittedly, many of them seem content merely to maintain their financial status, so long as it means they can profit without doing any real work." Loghain rolled his eyes, as though disgusted with this lack of ambition.

"Or," Kendalls countered, "perhaps they're merely a social club with no political motivations whatsoever, and all they do is sit around reminiscing about their old homeland and drinking overly sweet imported wines." He turned to Rhianna. "That is what most of us believe, anyway."

"Believe what you will," Loghain retorted, "but they control the Merchants' Guild, robbing honest Fereldan craftspeople of coin they should be making from their efforts. And it's high time the Landsmeet did something about it."

"Here's a thought," Bann Curwen began. "Let's tell the Merchants' Guild that unless they agree to allow craftspeople to form independent guilds, we will require them to fund the research of that Chantry scholar. The man who comes to the Landsmeet every year without fail, talking about Andraste? What was his name?"

"Brother Genitivi," Bryce replied. "He seems no closer than last year to finding Andraste's final resting place."

"As if the Prophet's ashes could still exist after all this time?" Kendalls scoffed. "I'd sooner see money go to those elves in the forest, than pay for the pipe dream of some delusional lay brother."

Servants appeared to clear away the empty dishes, and Rhianna finished her wine, relieved the meal was finally at an end. While the political discussion was fascinating, her head had started to ache slightly, and she felt a bit overwhelmed, as though too many thoughts were all trying to press on her at once.

When the others stood to stretch their legs, Rhianna was happy to do the same.

As Rhianna's father and Uncle Leonas continued discussing the Merchants' Guild, Loghain appeared at her side.

"Lady Cousland," he murmured, "would you care to walk out with me in the garden?"

She stifled a smile at the formality of his request. "Indeed I would, good Ser."

When she excused herself, her father gave a perfunctory nod before returning to his conversation. It was possible he hadn't even noticed she was leaving.

Arm in arm, Rhianna and Loghain left the great hall to find the last traces of the sunset fading in the western sky. Finally, a few minutes to spend alone together. The first opportunity they'd had all day. But before they'd gone more than twenty feet from the door, Rhianna stopped.

"Well, hello there!"

A very large mabari hound sat beside one of the benches along the main garden path.

"I wonder where he came from," she mused aloud, moving toward the dog. "Have you been out here all day long?"

The dog merely looked up at her, its posture erect, its eyes intent on her face. Around its neck was a collar unlike any Rhianna had seen before, which appeared to be made of overlapping copper disks, turned green from age. It was fastened very tightly around the dog's neck; there was a bulge of overhanging skin above and below it.

"That's an unusual collar," she said conversationally. "It looks a bit tight, though. Would you like me to loosen it for you?" As she bent down, she reached her mind toward the hound, asking permission to check the collar.

Rather than giving a mental response, the dog crouched and bared its teeth, a deep, menacing growl rumbling from within its chest.

Rhianna stepped back, glancing at Loghain. This was unusual, and disturbing. She tried again to make a connection with the dog's mind, but felt nothing there.

A man appeared, hurrying toward them from the direction of the palace, and put himself between Rhianna and the hound. He was tall and lean, with a straight nose and high cheekbones, and raven black hair, cut fashionably short. The same man who introduced himself that morning as the newly elected bann of the Ruswold.

What was his name again? Trueman? Torvall . . . No! Trumhall. That was it. Devon Trumhall.

"I wouldn't try to pet him if I were you." Trumhall's voice was breathless. "He's not very friendly, I'm afraid."

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "I discovered that for myself. What's his name?"

"Blacktail."

"Hello, Blacktail." Again, Rhianna pushed a thought toward the dog's mind. Again, nothing. "I wish I'd known you would be here today," she said aloud. "I have a mabari as well, called Dane. The two of you could have run around in the garden, and gotten into all manner of mischief together."

The dog failed to respond, other than to cock its head to one side and stare at her blankly with its large, dark eyes.

Rhianna turned to the bann. "Are you sure his collar is all right? It looks awfully tight to me."

"Oh, it's fine, I assure you." He patted the dog absently on the top of its head, and Blacktail shuddered as if he didn't like being touched.

Something was definitely wrong with this hound.

"You're Rhianna Cousland, yes? Daughter of the Teyrn of Highever?" Trumhall turned to Loghain. "And Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir of Gwaren?"

"Yes," Loghain answered. "And I understand you were recently elected Bann of the Ruswold?"

"Yes, I was." The man shifted his weight from one foot to the other, as if he were nervous.

"When exactly did that happen?"

"Just a few weeks ago. As I told the king, the area has been hit very hard lately by bandits. Krole always seemed like a good man, but he just wasn't able to protect the people in the valley, and I decided it was time to do something about it. I sent my men out to purge the area of bandits, and as a result, the good people of the Ruswold gave me their confidence, and voted me in as their new bann."

"Do you know Bann Krole - well, the former Bann Krole - do you know him well?" Rhianna asked.

"Not really," Trumhall admitted. "He remains, as before, in the area, but I haven't had much to do with him. As you might expect, he wasn't particularly . . . pleased about the people's decision."

"His wife was a . . . well . . . I know his wife, Alysanne. I don't expect we'll see much of her anymore, now her husband is no longer bann. Last thing I heard, she had a baby, but he's probably walking by now."

"Yes, I know of the bann's wife. She's much younger than he is, isn't she? I think there might be a second child now, as well. But, like I said, I don't really know either of them. I've lived in the area all my life, but never involved myself in politics, or much of anything until recently."

Rhianna glanced at the dog. Blacktail was still staring at her, his eyes intent on Rhianna's face. She felt uncomfortable; never before had she encountered an animal like this before. It felt . . . hostile, almost.

When the conversation idled, rather than trying to come up with a new topic, Rhianna decided it would be best to move along.

"Well," she said, "I suppose we'll leave you and Blacktail to your evening. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bann Trumhall. And welcome to Denerim."

"Thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Cousland." He nodded, and turned to Loghain. "And you, Teyrn Mac Tir."

Leaving the bann and his hound behind, Rhianna and Loghain moved deeper into the garden, until they were far enough away not to be overheard.

"That was odd," Rhianna said. "Very odd."

"What, that the bann's hound nearly bit you? Yes. Odd, indeed. Has that ever happened before?"

"No, never. The only time I've been bitten by an animal was the rat down in that guard tower."

"The rat? The same rat that guided me to where you had been locked up? It bit you?"

"Yes," she chuckled, "but don't sound so horrified. I was having a difficult time. I was cold and so sleepy and feeling a bit muddled, and when you called down to me, I couldn't work up the strength to call out loudly enough you could hear. Then she bit me and the pain cleared my head." She paused. "The really strange thing - about the dog, I mean, not the rat - was that I couldn't hear anything in his head. Not anything. It was like there was nothing there. And he didn't seem to understand anything I tried to tell him, with my mind or spoken aloud. I've never had anything like that happen before."

"What do you think it means? Is there something wrong with the dog? Other than being a brute who nearly attacked you, I mean."

"I don't know. Well, yes, I suppose there must be something wrong with him, but I have no idea what. And I suspect Bann Trumhall has no idea how to handle a dog in the first place. The collar was far too tight, and the man didn't seem to notice that the hound didn't enjoy being pat on the head. It makes no sense, really. Mabari choose their owners; I've never seen a pair so out of touch with one another. As though they hadn't truly bonded. But if they're not bonded, why on earth would the dog stay with him?"

"That's certainly not the only mystery surrounding this Trumhall. I still would like more information about what happened to Bann Krole. There was nothing out of the ordinary when I was there a few months ago. And suddenly, the people have elected a new bann? After thirty years of being ruled by Valudur Krole?"

"You don't think there's something really wrong, do you? In Ferelden, I mean? This thing with the bandits, and maybe werewolves. And all those disappearances. It's . . . well, it's terrifying, really. How could an entire farmhold of people just vanish?"

"I don't know. Whatever is happening, if anything is happening, it must be recent. I heard no such stories while I was traveling, and I went just about everywhere. But I don't think you need be worried, Rhianna. I honestly don't think Ferelden is in any danger from some internal source. We need to keep our eye on Orlais, but from what I saw just a few months ago, our defenses are adequate, barring anything completely unforeseen."

"Are you just saying that to comfort me? Like Uncle Leonas during dinner?"

"No. I know you don't need to be coddled. If I thought there was cause for worry, I would say so."

They made their way to the duck pond, which was still Rhianna's favorite spot in the garden, in spite of the incident with Vaughan. The previous year, Loghain had suggested they find a new place to frequent, but Rhianna had refused. She was determined not to let Vaughan take anything from her. And she had so many happy memories of the place, of all the times she and Loghain had spent there together over the years. So, she'd insisted on continuing to visit the pond.

When they arrived, Rhianna and Loghain sat side by side on the bench over looking the water. Loghain put an arm around her shoulder, and Rhianna rested her head against his chest. She took his other hand in both of hers, rubbing his palm with her thumb. On his little finger, he wore the dragon ring with the garnet, the one they'd found that day at the waterfall. In fact, Rhianna couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been wearing it. She took it between her finger and thumb, and idly rotated it around his finger.

"So," he began, "I trust your first day at the Landsmeet met any expectations?"

"Yes, I suppose it did. It was interesting, mostly, especially with the arrival of the dwarves. And I am curious to see how some of these issues will be resolved over the next week."

"You might be surprised at how many of them will _not_ be resolved during the next week. Or perhaps you won't be surprised. Today's session was relatively calm; the opening day usually is. Setting an agenda for the week isn't difficult. When it comes time to debate things properly, well, that's when things start to get sticky."

"At least this year, there seems to be no fighting over apple trees," Rhianna grinned.

"Yet. It's far too early to relax your guard on that score." He raised a brow. "You never know when someone from the Bannorn will come out of nowhere with a random apple tree dispute."

"I shall do my best not to become complacent," she laughed. Then, her smile faded. "There was one thing that struck me as odd today. I didn't want to say anything at dinner, in front of the others, but I was surprised when Bann Esmerelle got up and asked for a half-year's amnesty on taxes for the people of Amaranthine. Her claim that bad weather made for a poor harvest? I don't think that's true. Everyone I've spoken to in the Coastlands said the early rains gave the crops a better start than usual, and I know there was surplus grain in Amaranthine earlier in the summer. I spoke to a dock worker who helped load several barrels onto ships for export to Rivain."

"Ah yes. Esmerelle plays this little game periodically. Every few years she makes some claim that conditions in Amaranthine were somehow harsher than elsewhere in the country."

"Really? That's awful. Amaranthine usually does better than most places, because of all the trade that comes through their port. And there are people in other parts of Ferelden suffering genuine problems. She didn't seem keen on offering help elsewhere."

"Esmerelle is, in general, not known for her compassion."

Rhianna chuckled. "Well, that much is true."

"Sad thing is, she usually gets away with it, because the person who could discredit what she is saying is Rendon Howe. And the two of them are thick as thieves."

Rhianna raised a brow. "Thick as thieves? What do you mean?"

"Rendon and Esmerelle are more than happy to back up one another's stories, if it means someone might profit. And I've always had the feeling the two of them are rather closer than Arlessa Howe would prefer. Not that she's jealous; her marriage to Rendon was purely one of convenience and financial security. He had a reasonably noble family name, and she had a large inheritance from her father, who somehow managed to hide his assets during the Occupation. There was no love between them, and they've never tried to pretend otherwise. But still, it must rankle the arlessa to know her husband is so close with a woman who lives within easy riding distance."

"Are you saying the two of them . . . Arl Howe and Bann Esmerelle . . . are intimate with one another?"

"Well, I can't swear to it, as I haven't witnessed any of their private moments, thank the Maker. But yes, I suspect they are."

"That's a rather horrible thought. Picturing the two of them together." Rhianna grimaced. "But how is it possible I've never heard anything about this? Do you think my father knows?"

Loghain sighed audibly. "Well, they don't advertise the fact, of course. But more than that, I suspect your father has simply not noticed. Just as he probably hasn't noticed the harvest in Amaranthine wasn't really poor this year."

Rhianna raised a brow. "Are you saying my father is unobservant?"

"I think it's less that he's unobservant, and more that Bryce seems to look for the best in people, and is just trusting enough that he doesn't often bother to look deeper. This isn't a bad quality, but it does mean he sometimes fails to notice things happening right under his nose."

"My father doesn't fail to notice things. Other than Arl Howe and Esmerelle, what else hasn't he noticed?"

"Are you really asking that question?" Loghain laughed, and caught Rhianna's chin in his hand. "He hasn't noticed _this_, has he?"

He pressed his lips to hers. She giggled, and returned the kiss, relaxing into him for a moment.

Then she pulled away. "That's not fair. You and I have been friends for years. We've always spent a lot of time together. From the outside I can't imagine our relationship looks any different than it did before."

"All right. I'll give your father the benefit of the doubt on this one. But you do have to admit sometimes he is bit . . . too trusting."

"Perhaps," she admitted.

"I wonder, does his daughter suffer from a similar malady?" Loghain joked.

"Hah! Hardly. You know I don't trust everyone. Other than my family, and Uncle Leonas, mostly I just trust you."

She smiled up at him, and as she held his gaze, the smile slipped from his lips. He reached up to touch her face, running his thumb across her brow and down past her cheekbone. When he dragged his thumb across her slightly parted lips, heat rose deep inside her. He drew his thumb back in the other direction, tracing her bottom lip, and she caught it in her teeth, biting down gently.

He groaned and lowered his face to hers, smothering her lips beneath his own, beginning to kiss her even before she'd released his thumb from her teeth. Her arms snaked around his waist, and he reached up to bury his hands in her hair. A soft moan escaped her throat, and for several minutes, they communicated without the need for words.

Finally, they pulled apart, breathing heavily, and Rhianna rested her head on Loghain's chest, as he wrapped his arms around her. She reached for his hand, twining her fingers tightly around his, and listened to his heartbeat against her ear. His lips pressed against the top of her head, and he pulled her just a little bit closer, and they sat together in silence.

This. This was perfect. Being with him like this, so close, just the two of them together. She wanted nothing more than to be near him like this always.

A noise caught her ear, somewhere nearby.

She sat up. "Did you hear that?"

She heard it again. The soft crunching sound of feet on the gravel path.

"Yes. Someone's coming," Loghain agreed.

They moved apart, creating a respectable distance between themselves. Rhianna ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing it so it wouldn't look mussed. Then, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a bread roll. Tearing it in half, she handed a piece to Loghain.

"What's this?" he asked. "You brought a snack?"

"Not for us, silly." Rhianna giggled. "So don't eat it. Just play along."

A moment later, a lone figure came into view around the hedge. It was Queen Anora, frowning deeply as she moved toward the edge of the pond. She seemed lost in thought, not noticing Rhianna and Loghain on the bench.

"Anora?" Loghain's voice was soft, but Anora gasped, startling as she turned toward them.

"Oh! Father. And . . . Rhianna? I didn't expect anyone else to be out here just now." Her brow furrowed. "What _are_ the two of you doing out here?"

"We're just feeding the birds." Rhianna tore a tiny piece of bread from the loaf and tossed it into the water, where a number of ducks had appeared, after she called to them silently. She tore her hunk of bread into two pieces, and offered one of them queen. "Would you like to join us?"

"Feeding the birds?" Anora laughed, a sound with very little humor in it, but after a brief hesitation, took the bread from Rhianna's hand. "All right. I don't see why not."

She sat beside her father, and tore a small piece from the roll. When she tossed it into the pond, a male wood duck quickly gobbled it up off the water's surface. Anora chuckled, and threw another piece, and then another.

Loghain threw a rather sizable chunk into the air above the ducks, and two of them stretched their necks up, almost dueling to see which would catch it first in midair.

For the next few minutes, the three of them sat, not talking, just tossing out bits of bread, and laughing at the antics of the birds as they greedily gobbled them up.

"This was fun," Anora said when her bread had been used up. "When you said you were feeding the birds, I thought it sounded a bit mad. But now I understand why you'd want to do such a thing."

Her smile faded, though and she scooted closer to Loghain, slipping her arm through the crook of his elbow. He reached over and put his hand on her arm, and she rested her head on his shoulder.

After tossing her last bit of bread into the pond, Rhianna stood, and smoothed out the front of her dress. "It's getting late. I should see what my father is up to. He's probably ready to leave. We do have to be here again first thing in the morning, and I don't want to keep him waiting."

This was only partially true; no doubt her father would happily converse with Leonas and whoever else was around for at least another hour. But, as much as Rhianna wanted a few more minutes with Loghain, it seemed clear Anora was upset. She had the look of a daughter who needed her father, a feeling Rhianna understood well. If Rhianna returned to the palace by herself, Loghain and Anora could have at least a few minutes to speak privately.

Loghain nodded, looking grateful. Clearly, he too had noticed Anora's mood.

"You shouldn't walk through the garden by yourself," Anora said. "We can all go back together." No doubt, she was thinking about Vaughan, and what had happened here two years ago.

For a moment, Rhianna's heart did beat a bit faster, at the thought of the dark paths and shadowy corners she would have to pass through to return to the brightly-lit great hall.

She pushed those thoughts away. She would not be scared, nor would she let fear of Vaughan, or of anything else, rule her life.

"No, it's all right. I can walk back by myself."

"Are you sure?" Loghain asked, a brow raised.

"I'm sure. It's not far, and I've got my dagger." She patted the blade at her hip, tucked into the pouch Loghain had given her. "I'll be fine, I promise." She smiled brightly, hoping to convince him she really wasn't scared. "I expect I'll have gone home by the time you two return to the palace, so I'll see you at the Landsmeet in the morning."

"Yes," Loghain said. "Oh, and wear your leathers tomorrow. You and I can go to Fort Drakon after the Landsmeet and get in some sparring practice. If you like."

"That sounds perfect." She regretted not being able to kiss him just once more tonight. It was all right, though. There would be other opportunities for kisses. They had a whole lifetime of kisses ahead of them.

"Good night," she said, catching Loghain's gaze for a moment longer than necessary before meeting Anora's eyes, and including her in the farewell.

As she waked away, before turning the corner, she glanced back. Loghain was smiling at her, his eyes dark, his features in sharp relief in the pale moonlight. Something expanded in her chest, a feeling that was almost painful, at the sight of him.

He was so very handsome.

She paused for just a heartbeat, and then, smiling to herself, returned through the peaceful, dark garden to the palace.

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An especially big thank you to my fabulous beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum. Psyche had a suggestion that made this chapter so much better than my original version (which featured an incredibly boring session of the Landsmeet). So, many, many thanks are in order. And also a big thank you to my lovely reviewers: DjinniGenie, KatDancer2, SwomeeSwan, GLCW2, Serena R. Snape, Milly-finalfantasy, Skidney, Shadowfang, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Dragonmactir, and SecretWriter8910. I appreciate your continuing support so very much.

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	54. No longer his little girl

_**2 August, 9:29 Dragon  
Denerim**_

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At least a few years had passed since the last time Bryce set foot in Fort Drakon, but the place seemed not to have changed at all. The ancient stone floors looked no older, no more worn. The same smell of dust and well-oiled leather hung in the air, and sounds echoed against the walls in a way Bryce had heard no where else on earth. And of course, it was still the tallest building in Denerim - one of the tallest and oldest in all of Ferelden- towering over both the mountain on which it stood and the city that huddled below in its shadow. Few things this ancient remained in Ferelden, and fewer still were anything more than ruins today.

But Fort Drakon had always seemed vital, filled with activity and life, and it was peculiar to think the tower had been built countless centuries before, when the Imperium still ruled these lands. Tevinter mages had literally grown the tower right out of the mountain as a symbol of their power, to flaunt their ability to command the elements and bend all things to their will. Such a thing would have seemed an impossible fancy to someone who heard of the building sight unseen. But here it stood, a testament to the might, and perhaps the folly, of the Tevinter Imperium.

Chapter after bloody chapter of Fereldan history had been written here. Andraste laid waste to everything in the fort's shadow, using powers that could have come only from the Maker to defeat the Tevinters in what they believed to be their most secure stronghold in the south. In the Exalted Age, Calenhad – then teyrn of Denerim - lived in the fort while planning his attack on Redcliffe, a victory that started him on the path to uniting the kingdom under one banner for the first time in history. Teyrns waged war after war against one another for the right to hold the fort, until finally Denerim was declared an arling, so no one in the region would hold more power than the king. And most recently, Fort Drakon was the stage for the Usurper's last stand against Maric and his Rebellion. Maric and Meghren had battled at the very top of the tower, a combat that ended with the Usurper's head on a pike in front of the royal palace. Now, the building was under the control of the Arl of Denerim, and housed the city's regular soldiers, as well as Maric's Shield, Ferelden's elite military force whose main purpose was the defense of the king and queen.

As Bryce entered the huge room used for training, he pushed the weight of history out of his mind, and began looking around for his quarry. That morning, Rhianna mentioned something about sparring with Loghain after the Landsmeet session; when Bryce couldn't find her at the end of the day, he assumed she and Loghain had already made their way here. It had been some time since he'd witnessed Rhianna and Loghain spar; it would no doubt be entertaining to watch. Rhianna's skill had won her more than one tournament in Highever, and Bryce was proud of her dedication and her talent.

When she'd first expressed an interest in learning to fight, she'd been ill with the plague, and it seemed like a whim unlikely to hold her interest for long. But she had persevered over the years, and while he hated the thought she might ever need to use these skills for real - ever _again_, he reminded himself, after the incident with the poachers - it did give him some peace of mind to know his daughter wasn't helpless. She could defend herself, if necessary.

So tonight he would watch her spar, and then hopefully convince her to dine with him. Just the two of them. He'd seen so little of her since they arrived in Denerim. That wasn't quite true, of course; they'd spent the past two days seated next to one another in the Landsmeet. But Bryce had been distracted on Funalis, and she'd gone riding the day before that, so he was looking forward to a quiet evening, just father and daughter, with no other social obligations. Rendon had invited him to dinner, but Bryce declined. Friend or not, Bryce needed time away from Howe at the moment, time to think through how to handle the situation in Amaranthine.

Maker's balls. Amaranthine.

Usually, Bryce enjoyed the Landsmeet. For all the petty squabbles that inevitably broke out, it was good work, satisfying work they did here, the running of the country. It was also good to be in the city, to catch up with those people he saw only a few times a year. But this year, it was difficult to keep his mind on anything other than the trouble in Amaranthine.

He still couldn't quite believe what had happened: Highever soldiers - his _own _soldiers - terrorizing innocent people in the Feravel Plains.

When Rhianna and Bryce had arrived in Denerim, a letter was waiting for him from Rendon Howe, ominous in tone, saying they needed to speak in private. Urgently.

Bryce had gone to see Howe the next day, to find out just what in Andraste's name was happening. Howe revealed there had been complaints, some sort of trouble out near the Knotwood Hills. When Howe sent a party of guards out to investigate, they came across a group of soldiers looting a farmhouse. A group of soldiers with Highever devices on their shields. The soldiers had set the barn on fire, killed most of the family, and were in the process of forcing themselves on the farmer's teenaged daughter when Howe's guards discovered them. When captured, the men claimed to have acted under Bryce's instructions.

The rogue soldiers were locked away below Vigil's Keep for the time being, until Bryce himself could travel to Amaranthine and interrogate them. Howe had been careful not to let word of this get out, a neat trick no doubt, but the potential for scandal still ran high, and Howe had promised to give Bryce a chance to resolve this himself, rather than letting it be heard by the court in Amaranthine. Bryce was thankful the guards who captured the men were loyal to Rendon, and had come to him before spreading the news elsewhere.

The trouble now was figuring out when and how to respond. Bryce couldn't just leave Denerim, not in the middle of the Landsmeet. So, this would have to wait until afterward. Then, he would be free to travel to Amaranthine, except he wasn't sure he wanted to bring Rhianna with him, to expose her to any part of this trouble. It was a terrible business, and she was bound to find it distressing. It was possible she even knew some of the people who had been attacked. If it could be kept from her, so much the better.

It was mind boggling, really, that Highever soldiers could have involved themselves in such crimes. Apparently, this farmhold wasn't the first place they'd terrorized. He'd know more after he spoke with them. Though he hadn't said as much to Howe, Bryce secretly hoped this was somehow all just a mistake. Some misunderstanding. It was certainly not possible to "mistakenly" rape a sixteen-year-old girl, but perhaps the men who did it would prove not to belong to Highever, after all.

If only Eleanor were here. Blessed Andraste, but he missed her. Even under normal circumstances, he hated being apart from her, but now? He yearned for her in so many ways. Her wise counsel. The soothing timbre of her voice. The touch of her hands on his skin. Bryce understood why she had stayed behind; even though Oren was a healthy little boy, such illnesses were frightening, especially after they nearly lost Rhianna to the plague. But understanding why Eleanor had chosen not to come didn't make him miss her any less.

She would have helped calm him, suggested ways of making everything all right again, distracted him from thinking about the situation in Amaranthine every minute of the day. But without her here, he found it almost impossible to push things from his mind long enough to focus on the tasks at hand: the Landsmeet, and keeping track of Rhianna.

Not that Rhianna required much attention. As usual, she seemed to spend most of her free time with Loghain. Hardly surprising; that had been their habit for years now. Even though Bryce did sometimes worry for her safety, especially after that incident with the assassins, here in the city it was unlikely she would come to any harm in Loghain's company.

Still, it puzzled him that she never wanted to spend time with other people, those closer to her own age. Already, two marriage inquiries had arrived, one from Gallagher Wulff on behalf of his oldest son, and another from Sighard Davies, regarding his only child. Pleasant young men, both. And of course, Rendon never could quite let go of the idea that Rhianna should marry Thomas, which seemed more ridiculous than ever, considering what happened on Funalis. It was Thomas and Habren who had pinned that threatening note to Rhianna's door all those years ago, judging by what Delilah had said, and now the boy had murdered a fox while it sat in Rhianna's lap? Rhianna would never agree to marry Thomas, not with the history between them, but for some reason Rendon had difficulty accepting that.

Of course, there might not be any young man in Ferelden with whom Rhianna would agree to a match. She seemed completely uninterested in such things, preferring to focus on the duties she had taken up around the teyrnir, as well as weapons practice, her animals, and her friendship with Loghain. Bryce wasn't aware of her ever having engaged in a flirtation of any sort, not even with the any of the young knights at Highever, as he might have expected. Ser Gilmore in particular had always seemed to moon after her a bit, but Bryce had never seen Rhianna even notice, let alone return the lad's interest.

A decision about her future would need to be made soon enough. By the end of this year, certainly. Although it was possible marriage wouldn't need to be part of that decision, at least not right away.

What Bryce wanted most, when he was being completely honest with himself, was to leave the teyrnir to her. Not that Fergus wouldn't be a capable teyrn, and do an admirable job running the teyrnir, especially with Oriana at his side. Of course he would. Fergus was a good man, honest and fair, and was well liked in Highever. But Rhianna? Rhianna was beloved all across the Coastlands; the people adored her. Over the past few years, as she blossomed into adulthood, it had become clear: of his two children, it was Rhianna who had the natural capacity for leadership. She was smarter and more personable, and had a supple mind for administration, as well as a streak of compassion that allowed her to interact with other people - all sorts of people - in ways that opened up communication, that allowed for problems to be solved rather then merely argued. This was the main reason Bryce brought Rhianna to this year's Landsmeet; so she could get a feel for it, and he could see how she responded to being part of the governmental process. He had no doubt she would make a brilliant teyrna.

If only she had been born first, there would be no questions of succession. But she hadn't, and the decision to pass over Fergus was not to be made lightly, even though the lad had never particularly wanted to be teyrn. Fergus could certainly find other things to do; go into shipping, perhaps, or accept a more formal military command, and would probably be happier than he ever would be as teyrn. But, it would need to be handled carefully, if naming Rhianna as the heir to Highever was what he and Eleanor decided to do.

In the past, discussions on the subject always ended with, "she's still young; there's plenty of time yet to decide." But that argument no longer held true. Rhianna was a grown woman now, and a plan needed to be put into place for her sooner, rather than later.

Where had the years gone? The realization his children were grown sometimes nearly stopped Bryce in his tracks. His memories of them were so clear: Fergus in swaddling clothes, while Eleanor held him, her hair sweaty and her eyes red from exhaustion, but as beautiful as Bryce had ever seen her. Rhianna, toddling after her brother, her chubby legs taking three steps for every one of Fergus'. The pride shining in Fergus' eyes when he caught his first trout in one of the streams that ran down from the mountains. A stern expression, almost comical on her teenaged face, as Rhianna insisted Bryce sit still long enough for her to rub the knots from his shoulders, after a long day holding court in Highever.

It made him feel old, realizing Rhianna was no longer his little girl. That she was nearly a woman. That sometime soon, everything was bound to change.

Of course, if they did decide Rhianna would inherit, that would change the landscape completely in terms of choosing a husband for her. No longer would they be looking for an appropriate situation for her, but rather for a partner who would be free to move to Highever and help her rule to the best of her ability. Two quite different things, in truth. For now, until a decision was made, Bryce was biding his time, waiting to see how she took to being part of the Landsmeet, and putting off all marriage inquiries as long as possible.

In this, and this alone, it was convenient that Eleanor had stayed in Highever. Her absence made it easier for Bryce to put off potential suitors by saying, truthfully, he couldn't make any firm promises without first consulting Rhianna's mother.

Bryce crossed to the far end of the practice hall. It wasn't difficult to find Loghain and Rhianna; as usual, a small crowd of people had gathered to watch the two of them fight. Bryce walked up beside a dark-haired woman with a two-handed sword strapped to her back. She was Loghain's lieutenant, and Bryce couldn't quite remember her name. Catherine? Caroline?

No, Cauthrien. That was her name.

When she noticed him standing beside her, she did a double-take, and then smiled. "Teyrn Cousland," she said pleasantly. "It's not often we see you here at the Fort. You've come to watch your daughter practice, I take it?"

"Ser Cauthrien," he said with a nod, grateful her name had come to him at the last minute. "Yes. Well, actually, I've come hoping to take her to dinner after she's finished practicing, but being able to watch for a while is a welcome benefit."

Cauthrien was a striking woman, with high cheekbones and delicate features, dark hair pulled back into a queue, with just a few strands hanging loose at her temples. Hers wasn't the face of a warrior. Then again, neither was Rhianna's, yet there she was on the practice yard, clutching her weapons and circling a man twice her size.

"She's good," Cauthrien said, looking back out at the combatants. "I've enjoyed watching her style develop over the past few years. I remember when she could barely lift a short sword."

"She is good," Bryce agreed.

It looked as though Rhianna and Loghain had been at it for a while. They were both sweating and huffing, although neither of them looked near exhaustion. Rhianna stepped sideways, placing each foot down with deliberate care, her eyes narrowed, but a slight smile playing across her lips. She often seemed light-hearted on the practice field, something that, as often as not, seemed to throw her opponents off-guard. All except Loghain, of course. Bryce doubted much of anything would throw Loghain off-guard.

He watched them closely. There was something almost choreographed about the way they moved together, as though they knew one another's style so well, each could anticipate what the other would do next.

Loghain stopped circling, his longsword held out in front of him. They were fighting with real weapons, blunted no doubt, but certainly not the wooden practice weapons they had used when Rhianna was small. Loghain charged, and Rhianna danced backwards out of the way, easily avoiding the blow. She swung at him, but her retreat had taken her too far out of range to do more than glance the point of her longsword against his armor.

Again, they circled, and this time Rhianna lunged, and her blow was easily batted aside as Loghain blocked her sword with his shield.

Now, Rhianna began to circle away from Loghain, increasing the distance between them. Loghain allowed this to happen, his face calm and grim as usual. She twirled her longsword once - a cheeky move in the middle of a bout - before she dropped into a low crouch and nodded her head as if daring him to charge.

He moved toward her, and she took one step back, and then another, but her retreat still allowed him to close the distance between them. Loghain lunged, but rather than committing to the blow, he pulled up short in a feint. Amazingly, Rhianna didn't even try to evade his charge; she anticipated the feint, and leapt forward, angling her hand to drive the pommel of her sword into Loghain's stomach. He grunted, and doubled over as though the wind was knocked out of him.

Rhianna sidestepped past, pounding on him again, this time in the small of his back.

With a roar, Loghain swept his left arm upward as he brought himself back to his feet. Rhianna tried to leap out of the way, but her foot slipped out from under her, and Loghain's shield to connected full force with the lower half of her torso. The crack of bones breaking cut through the air, and Rhianna flew backwards, crying out, her sword falling from her hand as she landed on her back and lay motionless.

Maker's balls! Was she conscious? Was her chest still rising and falling with breath?

Bryce made to run to his daughter's side, but Cauthrien grabbed his arm.

"Leave her be. They're not finished with one another yet."

"Rhianna's injured. I heard bones breaking."

"Be that as it may, they're not finished with one another yet, and she won't thank you for interfering."

Cauthrien motioned for one of the younger recruits to come close.

"Go to the palace. Tell them we need the healer." Then Cauthrien gave Bryce a smile. "It's all right, ser. Honestly. She's had worse. And dealt worse to the teyrn. He's fighting with at least one cracked rib himself right now."

Bryce's stomach lurched. This had happened before? Broken bones, and being tended by the healer? Rhianna hadn't gotten back to her feet yet; she didn't appear to have moved at all. In another minute, he would see to his daughter, Cauthrien's protest or no.

Loghain didn't approach Rhianna, instead staying across the yard from where she had fallen. "Get up."

Rhianna lifted herself up enough to lean on one elbow, but only for a moment before she whimpered, and slumped back onto the floor.

"I said, get up!" He unstrapped his shield, and set it down near the edge of the ring.

Rhianna's chest heaved, and she managed to shift herself onto her elbow again, and then pushed herself upright. In her left hand, she held her dagger, while her right hand clutched at her injured ribs. The longsword lay abandoned where it had landed, several feet away.

"A real opponent," Loghain shouted, "won't wait for you to get your miserable arse off the ground! Now get up and fight me!"

Loghain lifted his sword high and charged, aiming his blade directly at Rhianna's head.

For one agonizing moment, Bryce thought Loghain was going to hit her, run her through with his sword. But just before the attack landed, Rhianna rolled out of the way, using the momentum to spring awkwardly back onto her feet. She stood still for a moment, her shoulders slumped, her empty sword hand protecting her broken ribs. She had the look of a wounded animal as she faced Loghain, and finally began to circle him again.

Loghain wasted no time in charging, and this time he didn't pull back in a feint. Her movements were sluggish compared to before, but Rhianna was still able to get out of the way.

She continued circling. Twice she coughed, tiny flecks of blood appearing on her lips. Still, she circled, her chest heaving with the effort.

Finally, Loghain charged again, but this time, she anticipated his movement, and moved to the side, dodging his attack, and then striking down with her dagger. The blade slid between the joint in his armor at the back of his knee, penetrating the flesh below. Loghain's leg buckled beneath him, and he went down on one knee, falling forward and managing to catch himself with an elbow before landing flat on the floor.

As soon as she had recovered from her attack, Rhianna ran forward. She threw one arm around his neck, and moved to bring her dagger there. Loghain bellowed and pushed himself up off the ground, carrying Rhianna as she clung to him. He spun in a half circle, violently enough to dislodge her and send her flying again. She landed on her back with a grunt, and before she could move, Loghain was at her side, the tip of his sword against the pulsing vein in her throat.

Rhianna lay there a moment, panting loudly, struggling for breath. Then, unbelievably, she smiled, chuckling softly, still clutching the side of her body.

"I yield," she breathed, followed by a burst applause from the onlookers. Loghain sheathed his sword and helped Rhianna to her feet, supporting her as they crossed the arena to a row of benches along one wall. Loghain left a trail of blood with every other step; apparently Rhianna had, indeed, drawn blood from his leg.

Bryce hurried to her side. "Rhianna," he said breathlessly. "Maker protect you, are you all right?"

She smiled weakly. "Well, it's possible every last one of my ribs are broken," she joked, as Loghain helped her down onto the bench, and then sat beside her. "But other than that, I'm feeling quite well." She chuckled softly. "I hope someone's already called for the healer." She coughed again, leaving tiny drops of blood on the back of her hand.

"No worries," Cauthrien replied. "Jocelyn is on the way." The two women exchanged smiles.

By now the spectators had wandered off, back to whatever they were doing before the bout, and two new opponents had taken up a sparring match in the practice arena.

"If it makes you feel any better," Loghain said, "I suspect you cracked at least two of mine. And made quite a mess of my leg."

Rhianna laughed again, softly, as if not wanting to jostle her body too much. "Good. Serves you right."

"Serves me right? I was just defending myself. What am I supposed to do? Let you win?"

"Just now, I'll admit there is something appealing about that thought. If letting me win would involve you not bashing me with your shield," she grinned.

A woman in blue robes approached them; Jocelyn, the court healer.

"It's you, Lady Cousland? I should have guessed."

"No, no. I'm not the one who needs healing," Rhianna insisted. "Clearly, Loghain got the worst of it during our bout." She tried to laugh, but clutched at her side with a groan that put the lie to her lighthearted comment.

"Indeed." The healer laughed softly, then made a circular motion with her hands, sending a burst of bluish light at Rhianna's midsection.

"Ohhhh." Rhianna took a deep breath, then exhaled it completely as she relaxed and slumped down on the bench. "That's perfect. Thank you, Jocelyn." Rhianna stretched her shoulder blades back, arching her back like a cat, and then smiled brightly. "Yes. Perfect." She turned to Loghain. "I don't think you've ever caught me quite so hard with the shield before. Remind me to never let that happen again."

"That is the point," he quipped.

The mage eyed Loghain, her eyes taking in his posture and the trail of blood down the back of his leg. Without asking, she sent an orb of magical healing at him, as well.

"Thank you," he said, when Jocelyn had completed her magic.

"Will that be all?" the woman asked pleasantly.

"For the time being, yes," Loghain told her.

"Then I'll bid you all farewell. Until next time." With a smile and a quick bow, she was gone.

"This has happened before? The royal healer, coming out to tend you after sparring?" Bryce was not at all happy about this revelation.

"Of course," Rhianna laughed. "Jocelyn is a wonder. I wouldn't be able to train half so hard without her." The girl licked her lips, and wiped the blood from the back of her hand. She turned to Loghain. "Did I get all of it?"

"Hold still," he told her, and reached up and rubbed off the last remaining drop from her chin, and one on the bridge of her nose.

"So, Father," Rhianna said brightly. "I take it you saw the bout? Or part of it anyway?"

"I did."

"Well?" Her voice sounded expectant. "What did you think?"

"It was rather upsetting to see you lying on the floor." When her smile started to fade, he quickly added, "But your ability to anticipate Loghain's attacks - knowing he was going to feint before he'd actually done it - that was brilliant. You've become an excellent swordswoman." He paused for a moment. "And . . . I was proud to see you get up and finish the fight, in spite of the broken ribs."

"Thank you." She looked genuinely pleased by his praise. Perhaps he'd been too quick to judge. If she didn't mind being hit that hard, and the healer was nearby in case of any severe injury, there seemed little chance of permanent harm. And this was important to her. Even if he couldn't quite understand why it was so very important to her.

Then again, perhaps it wasn't much of a mystery. Rhianna had been through more than her share of troubles. Being locked in a guard tower, attacked by assassins and poachers. Perhaps there was nothing surprising about it at all. And she had skills, there was no question of that. Just now, she'd nearly taken down one of the greatest warriors Ferelden had ever known.

"Loghain and I were planning on heading to the Gnawed Noble for dinner, after we clean up a bit," she said. "Say you'll come with us?"

Ah. So much for his plan to dine with Rhianna alone. But looking at Rhanna's face, at her happy smile, the certainty in her eyes that her father would agree to her request, he didn't have the heart to say anything but yes.

"Of course," he agreed, with a smile that was not entirely genuine, but put on for his daughter's sake. "I would like that very much. I look forward to hearing more about this bout. I only arrived after the two of you had been fighting for some time, and I suspect I missed some of the highlights."

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A great many thanks to my marvelous beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, as well as to all my wonderful reviewers: Serena R. Snape, GLCW2, Milly-finalfantasy, DjinniGenie, SwomeeSwan, Tyrannosaurustex, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Dragonmactir, and Shadowfang.

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	55. Perhaps I should issue a royal decree

_**4 August, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Denerim**_

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When Rhianna emerged from the changing room, Loghain stood to greet her.

"Are you hungry?"

For the third day in a row, they had come to Fort Drakon directly after the end of the Landsmeet. They'd spent the past hour sparring, although today's session was nowhere near as intense - or as painful - as the bout they'd fought two days ago, when she'd caught the brunt of his shield.

"Ravenous." Rhianna paused, wrinkling her nose. "I suppose we could dine at Amaranthine House. Arl Howe is having a dinner party this evening, and I can't imagine anyone would mind if I brought you along with me."

"And yet, I get the feeling this is not what you'd prefer to do this evening."

"No it isn't. To be honest, dining at Amaranthine House sounds horrible. I'm sure Arl Howe is still angry with me about what happened on Funalis. But more than that, I'd . . ." She paused and glanced up at him. "Well, I'd much rather spend the evening with just you. We've barely had five minutes to ourselves over the past few days."

A slight smile played across Loghain's lips. "I have no complaint about spending the evening in your company alone. But won't your father be upset if you don't come?"

"No, I told him not to expect me. I doubt he'll even notice whether or not I'm there. He's been quite distracted lately. I get the feeling there's something he's not telling me, but whenever I've asked, he says it's nothing for me to worry about. At any rate, I believe Bann Trumhall's been invited, so I'm sure Father will keep himself entertained in asking the new bann a thousand and one questions."

"There's always the Gnawed Noble," Loghain suggested.

"Ah, yes. Where everyone who was not invited to Amaranthine House will be eating tonight."

"All right," Loghain chuckled. "We'll avoid the Gnawed Noble, as well. How about this? There's a decent tavern down on the wharf. The food is good, but nobles avoid it because it's frequented by sailors. We're not likely to see anyone we know there."

"That sounds perfect!"

Half an hour later, they were tucked away at a corner table in the Lusty Mermaid. Loghain had been correct; Rhianna hadn't seen a single face that looked familiar. Emboldened by the relative anonymity afforded them, they sat close together, their legs touching under the table, and spoke in quiet tones over a supper of roast mutton and fried potatoes. When they finished, Rhianna suggested they walk home via the waterfront, taking the longest possible route back to Highever House.

They walked arm in arm through the city, stopping now and then to watch the boats bobbing gently with the tide, and the reflection of the moon - just waning - on the water. They left the waterfront and crossed the Drakon River, then walked along the riverbank past the market square, out near the city gates, and finally, toward the Highever Estate.

As they turned up the road leading into the Palace District, someone called out.

"Loghain? Is that you?"

Rhianna was surprised to recognize the trio of men approaching: King Cailan, Bann Teagan, and an unsmiling, armored guard.

"It _is_ you," the king announced as he came closer. "What are you . . .?" His voice trailed off when he caught sight of Rhianna. "Rhianna Cousland?" He leaned forward and peered down at her, his face only inches away from her own. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath smelled of whiskey. "Rhianna Cousland! Maker's breath. What a wonderful surprise!"

"And where are the three of you headed?" Loghain's tone was gruff. He sounded annoyed, with a tinge of anger underneath.

"We're on our way to the Pe . . ." Cailan began.

"For a pint," Teagan interrupted. "We're on our way to the Gnawed Noble. For a pint. Perhaps two." Teagan gave Cailan a withering look. "Aren't we, Cailan?"

Cailan laughed, then glanced at Loghain, and his laughter faded. "Oh yes, of course. The Gnawed Noble. Where else would we possibly be going?" He focused on Rhianna again. "And what you about you, my lady? What on earth is the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever doing wandering around Denerim in the middle of the night with Ser Grumps-a-lot?"

"Ser what? Ser Grumps-a-lot?" Rhianna glanced at Loghain. He merely rolled his eyes, as though he were accustomed to this sort of talk from the king.

"Yes," Cailan said with an expansive wave of his arm. "Loghain Mac Tir. The man voted 'least likely to smile' by the Landsmeet for twenty years in a row. At least."

"You must be joking," Rhianna retorted, irritated at Cailan's ribbing. "Loghain smiles all the time." She glanced at him; he most certainly wasn't smiling now. "Well, maybe not all the time, but often enough. He smiles for me anyway." She paused, wondering just how offended Cailan was likely to be if she said the next thing that had come into her mind. He seemed almost drunk, and might not even remember later. So, keeping her tone light, she added, "Perhaps you're just not a very pleasant companion, Your Majesty, and don't give him much reason to smile."

The king and Bann Teagan both burst into laughter.

"She's got you figured out, hasn't she, Cailan?" Teagan clapped an arm around the king's shoulders.

"Hah! Be that as it may," the king replied, "I still say he's not fit company for someone like you, Lady Cousland."

"Someone like me? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Surely you're aware, at this moment in time, you are by far the most interesting person in all of Denerim. By far. Not only has your presence at the Landsmeet produced quite a stir, but you're all," he paused, "grown up now, in a way you weren't the last time any of us saw you." Cailan's eyes drifted over her from head to toe. "Yours is most assuredly the name on everyone's lips this season. Bann Trumhall is probably disappointed you've trumped his big moment, but you're far more interesting than he is. And much prettier."

Before she could respond, Cailan continued, "I would be very pleased if you would accompany us this evening. To the," he cleared his throat, "Gnawed Noble. Which is definitely the only place we ever considered going tonight. Ser Grumps-a-lot is welcome to come, too, of course. He's fast enough I doubt we could outrun him, even if we tried."

"I don't know if I can agree to that, Your Majesty. I don't want my father to worry if I'm not home when he expects me to be."

"That's easy enough to remedy. We'll just send him a message from the inn." Cailan took her by the shoulders, and looked very earnestly in her eyes. "Please, Lady Cousland. It would mean so much to me you'd join us tonight." He lowered his voice, "Otherwise I'll be stuck all alone with my boring old uncle. And this fellow here," he nodded at the guard, who had stayed several paces away, watching and not speaking. "He might be even grumpier than Loghain."

Rhianna chuckled in spite of herself. She glanced at Loghain. He shrugged his shoulders and nodded; it was all right with him, if this is what she wanted to do.

What she really wanted, of course, was more time with Loghain. If he took her home now, they might get to spend more time alone together, but only until her father returned, which would put an end to the evening. On the other hand, if they went to the Gnawed Noble, they wouldn't be alone, but they could definitely spend the evening together.

"Well?" Cailan grinned. "Or perhaps I should issue a royal decree. I am, after all, the king. That should be good for something." He stood straighter. "Rhianna Cousland, I hereby decree that you shall accompany me to the Gnawed Noble Inn this fine evening, and give me the honor of your company and conversation."

"Very well, Your Majesty," she agreed, with a laugh that was half exasperated sigh. An evening spent with Loghain, even with others around, was more appealing than an evening without him. "I don't suppose my father will mind, considering I'll be in such exalted company."

"Good show!" Cailan laughed and put his arm around Rhianna's shoulders. "Everyone will be jealous of us tonight. The three . . . well, four," he glanced at the guard, "luckiest men in Ferelden. Being seen in the company of the most beautiful," he glanced nervously at Loghain, "the second-most beautiful woman in Denerim. My lady wife, of course, being the most beautiful."

Cailan's behavior, the look in his eyes and the way his fingers pressed into her shoulder, made her nervous. She giggled, using her laughter as an excuse to hunch her shoulders just enough to shrug off his arm, and step out of reach. A moment later, Loghain was at her side.

"Shall we?" Loghain offered his arm, and Rhianna tucked her arm in his. This was somewhat more demonstrative than she had expected Loghain to be in public, but she was grateful for the gesture. With Cailan on her other side, they made their way toward the Market Square.

"So what were you two doing anyway," Cailan asked, "wandering the streets of Denerim?"

"We'd been to dinner at the waterfront, after sparring practice at Fort Drakon," Rhianna answered truthfully. There didn't seem to be any reason to make up a story.

"Sparring practice? Ha!" Cailan laughed. "Isn't that just like Loghain? Put him in a room with a beautiful woman and the only thing he can think of to do is come at her with a sword."

Maker's balls. Between this and what he'd said about Loghain never smiling, Cailan was pushing the boundaries of politeness. But it might seem suspicious if she defended Loghain too vocally. Instead, she joked, "That's hardly fair, Your Majesty. Loghain thinks of other things as well. Like hitting me with his shield, or his shoulder, or an elbow. He even kicked me in the head once, although I think that was an accident."

"An accident? Hardly." Loghain looked down at her. "You were painfully slow that day. I wasn't sure you were even awake. Nothing like a good kick to the head to get someone's attention."

Rhianna burst into laughter.

"Wait," Teagan interjected, his brow knit in confusion. "You are joking, aren't you? About kicking her in the head?"

"Yes," Rhianna replied, "he's joking. Mostly. He's only rarely kicked me at all. He much prefers to bash me with his shield."

"It's not a bad idea, though," Loghain said. "A kick in the head every so often. It might serve as a reminder to wear a helmet."

"You know I hate wearing a helmet. I can't see or hear properly with one on, so I don't know what's coming. And I need to know what's coming to be able to get out of the way. I'm not like you, I can't sit there and let things hit me all day long. Besides, I've never seen you wear a helmet either."

"She's got you there," Cailan added. "I can't remember ever seeing you in a helmet, Loghain."

"That's different," Loghain said.

"Different?" Rhianna snorted with laughter. "How? I mean, obviously your skull is quite a bit thicker than anyone else's, but that doesn't make you indestructible." She winked at him, as Cailan and Teagan laughed.

Loghain frowned gravely, one eyebrow raised high.

"Hmnh. I was going to say something gallant, about your face being more worthy than my own of being protected from injury. But you hardly deserve the compliment now. My skull is thicker than anyone else's? I'll remember this conversation next time we spar," he said ominously.

"As long as you don't headbutt me, I suppose I'll be all right." She winked at him again, and this time he couldn't hold back his smile.

"King Cailan, look," Rhianna said cheerfully. "Loghain knows how to smile. He's done it just now."

"Maker's breath, Rhianna!" Cailan's eyes were wide. "Yes, I see, but don't go shouting it through the streets. You'll destroy his reputation and then where will any of us be? We'll have the Orlesians on our doorstep tomorrow if they think Loghain Mac Tir has gone soft."

That elicited another round of laughter just as they arrived at the Gnawed Noble. The tavern was packed with patrons in various states of sobriety; apparently, most of Denerim had chosen a night out on the town.

The proprietor greeted them, saying, "We'll have a table ready for you presently, Your Majesty," and then hurrying into the narrow room that opened off one side of the main hall of the tavern. As they waited, Rhianna glanced around. At a nearby table, Delilah Howe sat with Habren, Thomas, and Tanith Curwen. Rhianna waved at Delilah, who smiled and waved back. Thomas scowled, while Habren looked horrified and Tanith just looked down at her hands.

The innkeeper returned a moment later and ushered them into the side room, where a table had been cleared and made ready for their use, probably before the previous patrons were entirely finished with their meals. Rhianna sat on one of the hide-covered benches, and was thankful when Loghain was quick to sit beside her, while Cailan and Teagan sat on the bench on the other side of the low table. In addition to the drinks they ordered, Cailan asked the innkeeper for parchment and a quill, along with someone to carry a message.

After Rhianna penned the message to her father, she handed the parchment and a piece of silver to the boy who brought the supplies. "Please deliver this to Teyrn Bryce Cousland. Try the Amaranthine estate first, and if he's not there, you can take it to the Highever estate. If he isn't at Highever, just leave it with the footman."

The boy bowed gratefully, and scampered off to deliver the note.

Soon, drinks were served, and everyone settled in for some conversation. Rhianna had to fight the urge to look over at Loghain; no doubt someone would notice if she continually smiled in adoration at him. She wished he could rest his arm around her shoulders, or that she could hold his hand. Being close to him like this, without being able to touch him or kiss him, or even just lean up against him, was rather more difficult than she imagined it would be. Perhaps they could find some excuse to sneak off together for a few minutes.

"So, Your Majesty," Rhianna began, "Do you intend to go to Orzammar and meet with the dwarven king?"

"I hope to, eventually," Cailan replied. "I should like nothing better than to travel to Orzammar. I've never been to the dwarven city before, nor to any part of their domain, for that matter. But my advisors have suggested any trip like that should wait until next spring."

"Yes," Teagan said, "I can vouch for the fact that traveling through the Frostbacks in winter can be dangerous. You certainly wouldn't want to chance getting stuck in the mountains during a blizzard."

"I wouldn't have to worry about the weather at all, were I to travel through the Deep Roads," Cailan replied. "I wonder how close they come to Denerim?"

"The Deep Roads can't be safely traveled," Loghain said. "They're overrun by darkspawn."

"But with a large enough force to defend against them . . ." Cailan began.

"No," Loghain interrupted. "We have no way of knowing what force would be large enough. And even so, the risk of blight sickness is not worth taking." While he didn't say it, Rhianna guessed he was thinking about Queen Rowan; it was said the queen died from blight sickness caught in the Deep Roads.

"I suppose you're right," Cailan said, disappointment in his voice. A moment later, he waved at a group of people approaching the table. "Alfstanna! Gallagher! Please, join us!"

Another bench was pulled up to the table, and Gallagher Wulff, Alfstanna Eremon, and a woman Rhianna didn't know joined the conversation.

Alfstanna turned to Rhianna. "It's lovely to see you here, Lady Cousland."

"And you." Rhianna genuinely liked the new bann of the Waking Sea, who had succeeded her father after his death only a few months ago. Alfstanna had always been friendly, and a loyal vassal of Highever.

"I don't believe everyone has met Lady Helene." Alfstanna gestured to the companion seated beside her. "Helene doesn't come to Denerim terribly often."

"No, I prefer to stay in the country, to be honest." Lady Helene had shoulder-length blonde hair, and a friendly, open face. "I'm afraid I'm not fond of politics. I never learned how to navigate the conversations at the salons."

Rhianna laughed, and took an instant liking to her. "You're not alone in that. I can't tell you how grateful I am to be attending the Landsmeet this year, rather than endless salons." She glanced sheepishly around the table. "Not that I don't enjoy salons, if for no other reason than the marvel of Lady Harriet's cats." This elicited a round of laughter.

"So," Teagan said with a lilt to his voice, as though he knew he were instigating something. "I understand the debate about the royal navy is scheduled for the day after tomorrow, Considering we have the two main players here at the table, I wonder if perhaps we could get a preview?"

Loghain raised a brow. "Do you really want to open that tin of worms just now?"

"Well, why not?" Alfstanna grinned. "I don't mind hearing your arguments in advance, on the off-chance you've come up with something new since the last time we spoke on the matter. It can only help me destroy you in front of the Landsmeet."

"There are no new arguments from me," Loghain chuckled. "The old ones are more than serviceable. Ferelden has far greater priorities than the naval fleet, and little money, and I don't see the situation changing for several years, at least."

"Greater priorities?" Rhianna asked. "Like what? The royal navy is one of the areas in which Ferelden is weakest. We've only five ships, the same five that comprised the fleet when Maric was alive. Minus, of course, the _Demelza._"

"Oh ho!" Calian said. "Do I take it you have an opinion on the matter, Lady Rhianna?"

"Of course I have an opinion," she laughed, then glanced around the table, feeling suddenly nervous. "Not that it matters. Thankfully, I won't be involved in this debate."

"Perhaps not," Alfstanna said. "But I know where everyone else stands on the matter. You have considerable influence on your father, when you choose to exercise it. And your finger on the pulse of the Coastlands in a way few others have. If you don't mind sharing, I'd very much like to hear your thoughts."

"I'll second that," Teagan added.

"Oh. All right." Rhianna glanced Loghain, who gave her a slight smile. "I firmly believe we need to increase Ferelden's naval forces. Five ships is an embarrassment. Especially when compared to the Orlesian fleet, or that of Rivain or Antiva. Or Par Vollen." She paused. "We're far from landlocked, and we put ourselves at a great disadvantage by not having a proper navy."

Loghain frowned. "I don't mind the idea of building more ships eventually, but I'm curious where you suggest we find the money for it."

"Increase scutage," Rhianna replied. "Surely, you'll agree ours is low compared to most everywhere else. Same with the income tax. One-sixteenth? That could certainly be increased. One-thirteenth would be reasonable and the crown could raise a significant amount without any one individual feeling too tight a pinch. Especially in a year like this, when harvests have been good."

Cailan laughed. "Raising taxes? Can I assume you'll be willing to convince the banns they should pay more to buy out of their military obligations, milady?"

"Well, if they've got any sense, they'll be willing," Alfstanna said. "Ferelden has come a long way since the Occupation, but if we can't keep the waters off our coasts safe, we're going to be in very bad shape sooner or later."

"Exactly," Rhianna agreed. "And I realize my priorities are shaped by being from Highever. We'd be among the first to suffer attacks from the sea. Waking Sea, Amaranthine and Highever are particularly vulnerable. As is Denerim." She glanced at Loghain. "I don't know about Gwaren. Is the city defensible against an attack from the sea?"

"The castle is," Loghain replied. "The city isn't so fortunate. But we're far enough south I don't worry about an attack from the water. I assume they'd bother someone else before sailing all the way 'round Ferelden. Not that this has any bearing on my unwillingness to fund a navy. I should hope my history shows my regard for Ferelden as a whole."

"Of course it does," Rhianna agreed. "But it's possible those of us in the more vulnerable north might view the situation differently. Besides, I'd like to see an increase not only in our naval fleet, but also in merchant ships. Highever sees a lot of traffic from other countries - probably more than anywhere else in Ferelden, after Amaranthine - and I've always felt we're behind in that regard, as well. Especially lately. It seems every time a messenger comes from Denerim, it brings news of another Fereldan ship sinking right here in Denerim harbor. When was the last one?" she asked.

"Four months ago," Lady Helene replied. "The_ Salt Dagger. _Fortunately, no one was drowned, and nearly all of the goods were salvaged. I believe it was Bann Nicola's guards who were first on the scene, and did an admirable job of making sure no one was hurt."

"And with every Fereldan ship that is lost," Rhianna said, "we lose more economic power."

"I don't mind the idea of increasing scutage," Loghain began, "but not to raise money for building ships. We need to increase the size of the standing army first. Ships won't do us any good when chevaliers march through Gherlen's Pass."

Rhianna shrugged. "But what's to prevent Orlais from putting the chevaliers on ships and dropping them anywhere along the coast they please? It's far easier to mobilize our armies by sea than trying to get them across the country over land, especially during the winter. And with a strong fleet, we could fight battles at sea, keep the chevaliers off our shores entirely, without risking the lives and property of the people of Ferelden at all."

"I tend to agree with Lady Cousland," Teagan said. "Even though my bannric is one of the first that would be threatened by chevaliers through Gherlen's Pass, it has always struck me we are vulnerable to attacks by sea. And not just from Orlais. If the Qunari come, it won't be overland."

"The Qunari?" Loghain scoffed. "Aren't their hands full enough with Tevinter?"

"You know," Bann Wulff replied, "the same could be said about Orlais. As long as Nevarra keeps pestering them to the north, they won't have the resources to attack Ferelden again. There might never be a better time for us to expand our naval fleet. And it's not as though such a fleet can be built overnight."

Rhianna turned to Loghain. "I'd have thought you would be in favor of ship-building, Loghain. It would bring a lot of revenue into Gwaren. I expect nearly all the lumber would come from your teyrnir. Depending on the character of your harbor, perhaps the ships could be built there are well. It could create a whole new industry for you."

"Someday, perhaps," Loghain said. "It's not as though I can't see the benefit in a stronger navy. But not now. Not yet. Ferelden has too many other points of weakness to be bolstered first. Starting with the strength of her armies."

Rhianna's eyes narrowed. "Is there reason for concern? Just the other day you said there was nothing to worry about. That Ferelden had ample soldiers to fight off at least internal threats."

"There's always something to worry about," he answered. "Orlais isn't going anywhere." He glanced at Arl Wulff, "Nevarra notwithstanding." Then he turned his gaze on Rhianna. "But no, there's no particular reason to be concerned right now. A strong army is simply a higher priority than trying to get ships built."

"Eh, this whole discussion is moot anyway," Arl Wulff said. "I doubt even the most charismatic of speakers could convince Fereldan nobles to part with more of their coin at this time. Not with the way prices have spiraled upward of late. I can't believe how much goods cost these days."

"That much is true," Teagan confirmed. "We've felt the crunch in Rainesfere, as well. For the most part, though, it's luxury goods that are affected. Fortunately, the common people aren't feeling as much of a pinch."

Wulff laughed. "That's all well and good for the commoners, but they're not the ones who'd need to be convinced in order to raise scutage and taxes. No, this is most assuredly not the time to suggest raising new funds for anything, and certainly not a royal navy." He glanced at Loghain. "Not everyone has yet forgotten that expedition of yours, Loghain. When you came back empty-handed, and the treasury was drained dry."

"Finding King Maric's ship hardly counts as 'empty-handed,'" Rhianna interjected, which garnered a few surprised looks from around the table.

"I agree," Cailan said. "I must say there was comfort to be had in knowing at least something of what happened to my father. I don't consider that voyage a waste of time or of money. In fact, let's raise a glass." He picked up his whiskey glass. "To my father, whom I still think of every day. And to Loghain, for trying to find him."

A chorus of voices said, "Hear, hear," and glasses were raised all around. Rhianna glanced at Loghain. Some of the tension had left his face, the line of his jaw softened. It was a slight thing, barely noticeable, but she suspected he was touched by the gesture. No doubt, he, too, still thought of Maric every single day.

As the conversation drifted onto another topic, she realized she needed to relieve herself. No surprise; she'd had a glass of stout with dinner, and another just now. It was warm in here, as well; a short walk out in the fresh air would be good all the way around.

Placing her hand on Loghain's arm, she said, "If you'll excuse me, please. I'll be right back."

There was a question in his eyes, but he stood and made room for her to scoot off the bench. She smiled, to let him know nothing was wrong, and then wandered through the inn and out the back door and down the street to the privy. A few minutes later, she headed back toward the Gnawed Noble, pleased with the feel of cool evening air against her cheeks.

Outside of the tavern, Loghain was waiting for her, leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at the ankles, one hand resting on his hip. Stopping several feet away, her breath caught in her throat as she let herself take in the sight of him.

Maker. She had never seen anyone quite so handsome in all her life.

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't have any trouble," he said. "Finding your way back to the tavern. I know how horrible you are with directions." A slow smile spread across his face.

"I do appreciate your concern, ser," she grinned and closed the distance between them. "I nearly did become hopelessly lost."

After a quick glance to make sure no one was watching, he pulled her into his arms. He pressed his lips to hers briefly, and then grasped her shoulders and pushed her up against the wall, just hard enough to make her gasp in surprise.

"You think Ferelden should waste money on building ships, do you?" Although his tone was dark, his lips turned up at one corner.

"Ships? Well, yes. As a matter of fact, I do," she said breathlessly. "Ferelden should definitely have more ships. Anyone who doesn't see the benefit must not be paying enough attention."

"Well, I'll admit paying attention was a challenge." He grasped her chin in one of his hands, and looked directly into her eyes. "It takes most of my willpower to keep myself from pulling you into my arms in front of everyone, and kissing you. Like this . . ."

His lips caught hers, and for a few minutes they lost themselves in one another. Afterwards, Rhianna rested her hands on his shoulders.

"You weren't really angry with me, were you? For arguing about the ships?"

"Angry? No. I disagree with you, but I appreciate your willingness to hold your ground when challenged. I would hate to think you might ever go along with something I say or do, for fear you might make me angry."

"Good. And you don't mind being here? At the tavern? I thought this would be better than maybe finding my father at home, and not being able to spend the rest of the evening together at all."

"I don't mind. Especially now I know it was me you wanted to spend time with, and not Cailan." He winked.

"Cailan!" Rhianna chuckled. "Of course it had nothing to do with Cailan, and his ridiculous 'royal decree.'"

"Speaking of Cailan, we should probably go inside and rejoin the others."

"But it's so much nicer out here. Without everyone else around." She pressed her lips to his, briefly.

"I agree, but at some point our absence will be noticed. In fact, I'd be surprised if it hasn't already been noticed."

"Don't worry about that." Rhianna removed one of the earrings she was wearing, the ones he had given her for her birthday. "This will be our alibi." She held the earring between her finger and thumb. "I'll say I dropped it. Better yet . . ." She allowed the bauble to slip from her fingers. It landed on the ground with a soft "clink."

"There. Now we won't even be lying when we say we had to search on the ground for my earring."

Loghain knelt to retrieve it, and before he stood, he looked up at her, and something in his face, the look in his eyes, made her heart beat faster.

"Although I really wouldn't care," she said, taking his hand to steady him as he got back to his feet, "if people found out about us."

Before he could respond, she pulled him close and kissed him again.

Soon, his lips traveled away from her mouth, and down her throat, and she whispered his name. In response, he pulled her even closer, and one of his hands migrated across her body to cup her breast. Their lips met again, and Rhianna felt as though she were floating high above the world, that nothing else was real but this moment, and the man in her arms.

This was foolhardy; they were in a ridiculously public place. At any moment, another patron might come out of the tavern and see them, but she genuinely did not care.

She loved him. She loved him so much, and this was what she wanted. To kiss him, to hold him. To spend every day with him, for as many years as they could have together. And she wanted him, in other ways, too. She wanted to lay with him, to feel his skin against her own, to know the weight of his body pressing on hers. She wanted to be as close to him as it was possible for two people to be.

She pulled away. "Can we go now? Leave the inn, I mean. I don't want to go home, not yet. But somewhere else. Somewhere it will be just the two of us?"

His brow furrowed, and he frowned, but then his eyes widened, slightly. "Of course, if that's what you want."

"It is."

"Then let's tell the others good night. And I'll take you anywhere you want to go." He leaned over and kissed her once more, and she surrendered herself into his arms.

Around the corner, a noise sounded, the loud crack of wood against brick, as the back door to the Gnawed Noble flew open.

Rhianna and Loghain jerked away from one another just as a man and woman walked by, arm in arm, laughing happily. The two seemed not to notice Rhianna and Loghain standing to one side of the building.

After the couple had moved past, Rhianna burst into laughter.

"Oh, Maker, that was unsettling. For a moment, I was certain my father was going to come around the corner. And I have no idea what I would have said to him had that happened."

"Nor do it," Loghain admitted. "But I think this is a sign we should return to the table."

Inside, Rhianna stopped walking at the sight that greeted her: Vaughan Kendalls, sitting where Rhianna herself had sat just a few minutes earlier. This was the first time she'd seen Vaughan at close quarters since the night he attacked her.

Loghain placed his hand at the small of her back. "It's all right, Rhianna," he murmured. "He's not going to do or say anything to harm you. You got the best of him last time he tried to hurt you. And if he's rude in any way, he'll regret it."

She bit her lower lip for a moment, then nodded. "I know. And I'm not afraid of him. It's just . . . awkward."

"I understand. But it will be good for you to face him, so he'll know you're not afraid."

"All right. But this means we'll have to stay at least a few minutes longer. I don't want Vaughan to think he scared me away."

"As you wish. Just let me know when you're ready to leave."

"Well, there you are!" Cailan exclaimed. "We were about to send out a search party."

Rhianna smiled brightly to hide any anxiety at Vaughan's presence. "Yes, well we could have used a search party for my stupid earring." She held up the "evidence" in her hand, before sliding it back into the hole in her ear. "It came loose and I heard it hit the cobblestones in the alley, but of course it bounced away into the farthest, darkest corner, and took Loghain and I forever to find it."

She turned her attention to the newcomer at the table. "Hello, Vaughan," she said smoothly. "I haven't seen you in some time."

Vaughan gave what was probably meant to be a smile, but was too twisted and unpleasant for genuine friendliness. "Lady Cousland. And . . . Teyrn Loghain." He swallowed nervously.

"You're in the lady's seat," Loghain said and raised a brow at Vaughan.

"Oh!" He laughed nervously. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"No matter," Alfstanna said, rising to her feet. "Helene and I are on our way out anyway. Vaughan can take my seat."

When Alfstanna and Helene stood to leave, Vaughan quickly scooted over onto the middle bench.

"Good night, Bann Alfstanna," Rhianna said, as she slid back into her original seat. "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Helene."

"And you as well, Lady Cousland."

As the two women walked away, Cailan turned to Rhianna. "We were talking about you in your absence," he said with a grin.

"Were you? Only good things, I hope." Rhianna smiled up at the barmaid, who placed another glass of stout in front of her.

"Of course." Calian leaned across the table and motioned for Rhianna to lean close to him, as though he meant to tell her a secret. "I'll wager your father has his hands full this week. Or will by the end of next week, anyway."

Rhianna blinked. "Has his hands full? What do you mean?"

"Sorting through marriage proposals, of course. Surely, you realize you're quite the most eligible young woman in Ferelden. Perhaps in all of Thedas. I'd bet a hundred sovereigns your father receives at least six offers by the end of the Landsmeet next week."

Rhianna's face felt hot. She certainly hadn't expected the conversation to lead here.

"Cailan." Loghain's tone held a hint of warning, but the king seemed oblivious to both Loghain's stare and Rhianna's discomfort.

"Let's see," he continued. "Thomas Howe is considered a front-runner, on account of his father's relationship with your father. But Timothy Wulff would make you an arlessa as well, eventually," he said, glancing at Arl Gallagher. Then Cailan grinned at Vaughan. "And don't tell me you haven't thought of trying to win the hand of the lovely Lady Cousland." Without giving Vaughan a chance to respond, Calian added, "Of course, I'm going to do my best to make certain Teagan here has a word with your father. It's high time he found himself a wife."

"Cailan," Loghain repeated, his voice harsh. "That's enough."

"What? You know I'm right, Loghain. Lady Cousland is the single hottest topic of conversation this season."

"Your Majesty, please," Rhianna said. "I . . . would prefer not to talk about this."

Cailan narrowed his eyes "No? Perhaps you already have someone in mind? Someone you fancy?" He leaned closer, examining her expression. "There is someone, isn't there?" He sat back again and grinned like a small child about to receive a present. "Do share. We'd love to be the first to hear your exciting news."

"Cailan," Loghain repeated. "Lady Cousland said she would prefer not to discuss this. Don't be an arse."

Cailan sighed loudly. "Oh, very well. You see what I mean about him being a Grumps-a-lot? I guess we'll all just have to wait and see what happens, then." He leaned over to Teagan and said in a loud whisper, "My fingers are crossed for you, uncle. If I were her, you're definitely the one I would marry."

"So, Lady Cousland," Teagan said, his voice just a bit louder than usual. "I trust you'll be riding out with us on the royal hunt?"

"Yes, I will." Rhianna gave him a warm smile for changing the subject. "I'm looking forward to a day out of the city. Will we be in the woods, mostly? Or out on open plains?"

"In the woods," Calian replied. "I was thinking about boar. Or perhaps a bear."

"This isn't a bad time for boar," Rhianna said. "They'll stick close to water sources that haven't yet dried up."

"That's what I'm hoping," Calian agreed. "We'll send the dogs out to find them."

Rhianna wrinkled her nose. "Except they won't taste as good if the dogs chase them around too much. And the meat gets tough. It's best to hunt boar in a small group, on foot."

"That might be difficult." Arl Wulff said. "With so many of us going out, even if we split up, there won't be anything resembling a 'small' group."

"It's also a good season for roe buck," Loghain suggested. "And grouse. Are you planning to bring Gwyn?" he asked Rhianna.

"If we're in the woods, then yes, definitely. She'll enjoy herself."

"Gwyn?" Cailan asked.

"My goshawk."

"Oh, that's right," Vaughan said. "The bird you claim to have trained yourself."

Rhianna swiveled her head to look at him. Was he honestly stupid enough to challenge her about this?

Before she could respond, Loghain said, "Of course she claims to have trained the bird herself. She did train the bird herself. Is there some reason you disbelieve her?"

"Um . . . no, of c-course not." Vaughan glanced at Loghain. "I just, well, training a hawk is a tricky affair."

"Yes it is. And Rhianna is good with animals," Loghain replied.

Vaughan's gaze shifted onto Rhianna, and she fixed him with a steady stare, determined not to be the first to look away.

After only about five seconds, she triumphed. Vaughan looked down, studying his hands.

"Yes, I have heard that about her," Cailan said cheerfully, oblivious to any tension on the other side of the table. "Well, really, I heard Lady Cousland is one of the best trackers in all of Ferelden. My father said it on more than on occasion. So, what would your preferred quarry be, my lady? Speaking of animals at the hunt, that is."

"I don't have a preferred quarry," she admitted. "I don't actually like to hunt. I do it because it's an excuse to ride out in the countryside, and for food, of course. But I never enjoy killing things."

"Don't you?" Cailan exclaimed. "But that's the most exciting part! Feeling a sense of mastery over a wild creature. Wouldn't you agree, Teagan?"

"I think I enjoy the chase most of all," Cailan's uncle replied, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Making the killing blow isn't my favorite part either." Bless him. Most likely, he'd said that so she wouldn't sound like a baby for not wanting to kill things. "A toast, to next week's hunt," Teagan offered. "And may Lady Cousland and I be exempt from having to kill anything!"

Rhianna laughed, and everyone at the table raised their glasses and clinked them together. Rhianna took a generous sip from her glass, as four new people approached the table, bringing a smile to her face.

"Father, Uncle Leonas!" she exclaimed. "This is a nice surprise."

Bryce Cousland, accompanied by a smiling Leonas Bryland and his unsmiling daughter, Habren, greeted the group at the table.

Bryce smiled at his daughter. "I received your note, and Leonas and I thought to stop here on the way home."

They were accompanied by another man, someone Rhianna had never seen before. He looked to be about thirty years old, and was tall with short, dark hair and a well-manicured beard.

"Everyone," Leonas began, "I would like to introduce Ser Basil. He's only recently returned to Denerim after receiving his accolade down in South Reach."

"It is a pleasure to be here," Ser Basil said. His clothes looked Orlesian in style, but when he spoke his accent was entirely Fereldan.

"Well, I think it's time I got going," Vaughan said. His face had drained of color, and he pushed himself to his feet, abandoning a half-full glass of ale. No doubt, he wondered how much Rhianna's father knew about what happened in the garden two years ago.

Cailan laughed. "But you've only just sat down! What's your hurry?"

"Things to do, of course. Tomorrow is the grand ball after all. And I should . . . check on my birds and my hounds, make certain they'll be up to the hunt next week."

With a quick bow, before anyone else could comment or protest, Vaughan fled the room.

"That was strange," Gallagher Wulff said. "Did anyone else think he left in quite a hurry?"

Loghain shrugged. "No great loss."

"Oh, that's right," Cailan said. "I seem to remember you aren't fond of Vaughan. I never quite understood why, though. What did he do to make you angry?"

"He's a bully. And a coward. And I don't like the way he treats women."

Rhianna forced herself not to look over at Loghain, or make eye contact with anyone at the table. She didn't want to have to answer any questions as to her own opinion of Vaughan Kendalls.

Motioning for Habren to take the seat Vaughan had just vacated, Bryce sat beside Loghain. Loghain slid in Rhianna's direction, giving her father more room on the bench, and as a result, Loghain's thigh pressed up against Rhianna's, warming her in places other than just her leg.

Her father leaned forward. "So, I trust these fellows have not been mistreating you, Pup?"

Rhianna giggled. "Well, King Cailan's manners could be better," she gave the king a pointed glance, "But Bann Teagan and Arl Wulff have been perfect gentleman." She glanced at Loghain. "As, of course, has Teyrn Loghain."

He nudged her leg, and she struggled to keep a smile from erupting across her face. In truth, Loghain had been anything but a perfect gentleman during those minutes they spent out behind the inn. Perfect, yes. But a gentleman? Definitely not.

"My manners?" Cailan leaned across the table, a brow raised. "Isn't this a case of the pot calling the kettle black? I seem to recall you saying I'm so unpleasant, it's my fault Loghain doesn't smile more often!"

When he winked at her, Rhianna giggled. She felt the tiniest bit lightheaded, no doubt the result of having a bit more to drink than she was accustomed, as well as Loghain's leg pressed up against hers.

"Are you quite all right, Rhianna?" Her father frowned. "You look a bit flushed."

"Of course I'm all right. We were just talking about the hunt next week."

"Ah yes," Bryce said. "I've been looking forward to this for a while now. It will be good to get out in the woods. I haven't managed to hunt at all this season back at home."

"All work and no play?" Teagan asked.

"Something like that."

"It's your own fault, Father," Rhianna chided. "I've offered to take some of the burden off you. I could hold court in Highever, which has sucked away a lot of your time this summer. You're the one who insists on doing most everything yourself."

"Yes, I know, Pup. But it's my responsibility, and I'd rather see you enjoying a bit of spare time. You have little enough of it now as it is, with all the things you do."

"Just what sorts of things does the daughter of a teyrn do back at home?" Ser Basil asked conversationally.

"Oh, Rhianna keeps herself very busy," her father replied. "She commands her own unit of Regulars, she spends a lot of time in town and in the countryside, so she knows the people very well. And whenever anyone's livestock is due to give birth, they send for Rhianna to help with the delivery."

"I seem to recall you're quite good with a sword, as well," Cailan added. "Anora and I were there to see you win a tournament a couple of years back."

"That's right," Rhianna said. She finally risked turning her face toward Loghain. "That was while you were still away at sea." After looking into his eyes for just a moment, she had to turn away again, afraid the others would intuit her thoughts. Since all thoughts revolved around just how much she wished she were kissing him, she definitely didn't want that to happen.

"I should like to spar with you someday," Cailan said. "I expect it would be a great deal of fun."

"I wouldn't recommend it, Cailan," Loghain said dryly.

"What? Why not?"

"You'd have no chance whatsoever of beating her, and she'd finish with you so quickly it would hardly be worth the time and effort it took to don your armor."

Rhianna's eyes grew wide. While his tone was casual, she sensed Loghain not only meant what he'd just said, but that he'd said it to bring the king down a few notches.

Cailan looked a bit stunned, and didn't respond.

Teagan laughed. "Then I shall certainly never offer to spar with Lady Cousland. I've no desire to embarrass myself quite so thoroughly."

"That makes two of us," Leonas agreed. "And I wish my daughter was half so industrious as Rhianna." He glanced at Habren. "Mostly, she just occupies her time in the market place, spending my money."

Habren's eyes widened, as she frowned and turned away from her father. Rhianna almost felt sorry for her, to have been insulted by her own father in that way. Almost.

"Oh come now." Teagan turned to Habren. "I'm sure you do things besides spend your father's money, Lady Bryland. So tell us, how do you keep yourself busy when you're at South Reach?"

Habren blinked several times. "Um," she began, glancing around at the faces turned in her direction. "I like, um, reading books. Occasionally. And planting flowers in the garden. And singing and playing the pianoforte. And I do enjoy shopping. That much is true."

"You see!" Leonas sounded triumphant. "Even she admits shopping is her favorite thing. Don't let that get out, though," he said, lowering his voice, "or I'll never find a husband for the girl."

"Father!" Habren exclaimed, slapping at his arm unhappily.

"I should like to hear you sing sometime," Cailan said pleasantly. "That's the sort of thing that goes on at the salons I am only rarely able to attend." Privately, Rhianna thought Cailan hadn't missed anything. She'd heard Habren sing a great many times, and thought her musical talents were much overrated.

"And will you be accompanying us on the hunt next week, Lady Bryland?" Gallagher Wulff asked.

"Oh no!" Habren's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I'm not like Rhianna, wanting to wear armor and spend all my time fighting and killing things."

Rhianna laughed out loud at this. "I hardly spend all my time fighting and killing things. Where on earth did you get that idea?"

"Well, as many times as you've broken Thomas' nose, what else am I supposed to think?"

"Wait." Cailan grinned as though enjoying the turn of conversation. "You've broken Thomas Howe's nose more than once? I remember the first time. You were small then, what, about five or six years old?"

"I was five."

"There have been other times? How many others?"

"Just one other, only a few days ago. He killed a fox with a slingshot. In your palace garden, as a matter of fact." She turned to Habren. "So you see, I'm hardly the one going around killing things."

"He killed a fox? In the palace garden?" Cailan sounded dismayed. "I didn't hear anything about that. Did you know about this, Loghain?"

"Yes, I was there just after it happened."

Cailan frowned. "I can't say I like the sound of young Howe killing things in the palace garden.

"Neither did Rhianna," Bryce said, with a glance at his daughter. "That's why she punched the boy." He moved as if preparing to stand. "And with that," he turned to Rhianna, "I think perhaps it's time we were headed home. Don't you agree, Pup? It is getting late. And," he said with a wry grin, "I suspect you've had more than enough to drink for one evening."

Rhianna's eyes grew wide. "Father! Don't be ridiculous. I'm not anywhere near being drunk." Then she hiccupped loudly, on purpose, getting a laugh from just about everyone at the table.

"Yes, I think it's time for us to call it a night as well," Leonas agreed. "Habren needs her rest if she's to face the Denerim Marketplace on the morrow."

As Bryce stood, and Loghain slid from the bench to let Rhianna get up, it occurred to Rhianna that with her father here, Loghain wouldn't have any excuse to escort her home. A stab of disappointment went through her.

He put his hand on her arm, ostensibly helping her to stand, but he let his fingers linger just a moment longer than necessary, pressing gently, his warmth seeping into her skin.

"Thank you for the sparring earlier," he said.

"You're welcome. I enjoyed it, as well. And thank you for taking me to dinner." It was all she could do to keep from kissing him, even on the cheek. She couldn't risk it, though. Not with so many people watching. Soon enough, that was sure to change. Every day that passed, she felt more and more certain Loghain cared about her enough to make her his wife. He hadn't spoken of it, and neither had she, but she felt certain of it, nonetheless.

Cailan stood. "I am sure I speak for the entire company when I say we shall be devastated by your departure, Lady Cousland. I fear once you are gone, it will be as if the sun had hidden behind the clouds." He bowed low, and then overbalanced when he stood. Teagan reached out to steady his arm and keep the king on his feet.

Had Cailan lost his mind? He must be remarkably drunk to say a thing like that.

"Thank you, Your Majesty, for a most pleasant evening," Rhianna replied, trying to hide the slight discomfort she felt at his rather dramatic pronouncement. "And good night, Arl Wullf. Bann Teagan." She turned her face up to the man beside her. "And to you as well, Teyrn Loghain."

"Good night, Rhianna." His expression remained calm, showed nothing of his feelings. But his eyes spoke something more, something just for her.

Yes. She felt certain he cared enough about her to make her his wife.

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As always, thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and to all my lovely reviewers: GLCW2, Milly-finalfantasy, Serena R. Snape, KatDancer2, KrystylSky, DjinnieGenie, Tyrannosaurustex, Swomee Swan, Superstar Kid, Dragonmactir, and Arsinoe de Blassenville.

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	56. Nicola's Grand Ball

_**5 August, 9:29 Dragon  
Baranti Manor, Denerim**_

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Hundreds of candles lit the gently curving path that led to the front entrance of the Baranti estate, and still more flickered merrily in the trees and manicured hedges nearby. As her father offered his hand to help her down from their carriage, Rhianna felt a bit dazzled by the sight. This was her first visit to Northmuir House, but she'd heard many stories about how grand and elegant it was. Judging by her first impression, the stories were true.

They climbed the marble steps and entered the manor through huge double doors, the dark wood carved with intricate designs. Just inside the entrance stood a dwarven man dressed in fine livery.

"Teyrn Bryce and Lady Rhianna Cousland," the dwarf announced, in a voice that rang throughout the main hall.

Rhianna and her father moved into the room, and were immediately greeted by their hostess, Bann Nicola Baranti.

"Darling Bryce!" She leaned up to kiss Bryce on each of his cheeks. "It's wonderful to see you here tonight."

Bann Nicola was nearly eighty years old, but looked years younger. Her grey hair was cut fashionably short, and her face made up so artfully she looked youthful without appearing painted. She wore a dress of green brocade, with hundreds - perhaps thousands - of tiny, dyed seed pearls sewn into the fabric, each one sparkling subtly in the firelight.

"And Lady Cousland." Bann Nicola took one of Rhianna's hands in her own, and grasped it warmly. "You've grown into such a lovely young woman. I am honored to have you here at my humble little affair." The Bann sounded completely sincere, in spite of the fact that her "little affair" was clearly anything but humble.

"Thank you, Bann Nicola," Rhianna replied. "I'm pleased to be here."

"And this," Nicola added as she turned to the man at her side, "is Captain Braedon, my escort for the evening." The man's grey hair and beard were closely trimmed, and he wore immaculate military dress. "Braedon is captain of my guard."

After exchanging pleasantries with the guard captain, Rhianna and her father descended into the main hall, where an ever-increasing number of guests were gathered in small groups, laughing and talking while sipping drinks, their eyes bright with the promise of an enjoyable evening ahead.

The inside of the manor was stunning. Its wooden floors gleamed, and the paneled walls were covered with enormous tapestries glittering with gold and silver thread. The ceiling arched up at least two stories, with dark wooden beams criss-crossing over their heads. The hall was easily large enough to accommodate dancing later in the evening, and at the far end, a wide staircase led to the upper floor. In one corner, a quintet of musicians played cheerful music. Dozens of people had already arrived, most of their faces familiar to Rhianna, although there were a few she did not recognize.

Rhianna scanned the crowd for one face in particular. She found him, leaning against the wall at the far side of the room, in conversation with Teagan Guerrin and Lucas Bronach, the Bann of Hafter River. A faint smile crossed Loghain's lips, as though he had been waiting to catch her eye.

Before she could excuse herself to make her way across the room and greet him, Lady Harriet bustled up, and put her arm around Rhianna's shoulder. She was accompanied by another woman, Grainne Ramsey, wife of the Bann of Winter's Breath. Harriet was wildly excited about something.

"Have you heard the news? No, of course you haven't heard, I've only just heard myself!" She laughed, then leaned closer and whispered loudly, "There's to be an announcement tonight: Tanith Curwen is betrothed to Bann Nicola's grandson, Adric!"

For once, Lady Harriet's gossip was genuinely interesting. Tanith was, of course, one of Habren's best friends, and Adric Baranti was considered a prize catch among the young women in Denerim. Not only was he handsome, but his grandmother was incredibly wealthy. Rhianna was barely acquainted with him, though; she'd spoken to him a few times, but never more than pleasantries.

Rhianna felt a momentary pang of disappointment; if only it were her own engagement to Loghain being announced tonight. Not that she begrudged Tanith and Adric any happiness they might be feeling, but she wished so much her own future was settled.

"It is good to see an engagement among this generation of young people," Grainne Ramsey said. "There have been far too few marriages in recent years."

"Indeed there have!" Harriet squeezed Rhianna's shoulder. "No doubt you'll be next, dear! Once your father stops dragging his heels and finds a good husband for you!"

Rhianna's stomach lurched, but Bryce merely chuckled. "I'm pleased to hear about Tanith and Adric," he said. "But I don't intend to rush Rhianna into anything."

"Hmmh," Harriet snorted. "That's all well and good for you, but the other young ladies would benefit greatly if Rhianna were to set a good example. And of course, once her future is settled, all the other young men - the ones she won't be marrying - will no longer need to wait around trying to win her hand!"

"All in good time, Harriet," Bryce answered placidly. "All in good time."

It was a comfort to hear him say that, although Rhianna had to admit she felt a flicker of fear every time it occurred to her that, any day, her father might make some arrangement for her. An arrangement with someone other than Loghain Mac Tir.

Not that there was any real danger of being betrothed to someone else. Her parents had always promised she would never have to marry someone she didn't want to marry, which meant they would have to discuss the matter with her before any formal arrangement was put in place. So, there was no reason to worry. Not really.

Even so, she wondered when Loghain intended to speak with her father. Hopefully soon. Assuming he did, in fact, intend to speak with her father.

As though summoned by her thoughts, Loghain appeared at her side.

"Good evening, everyone," he greeted.

"Good evening, Loghain." Her father smiled broadly; he seemed in a good mood this evening.

Loghain turned to her. "Rhianna. You look lovely this evening." His eyes drifted down, taking in her appearance.

Her gown was new, made especially for tonight's ball. It was deep blue, with a brocade underskirt and pale peach colored bodice. One of the servants had helped pulled her hair into a more elaborate style than usual, and faint traces of paint brightened her lips and her cheeks. Rhianna had been pleased with the way she looked when she left the Highever Estate earlier; apparently, Loghain was, too.

"Thank you." Warmth rushed into her cheeks. "And good evening to you."

"We were just talking about the engagement that's to be announced this evening," Lady Harriet gushed. "Tanith Curwen and Adric Baranti."

"I don't know either of them very well," Loghain replied, "but it seems a sound match."

Leonas Bryland, with Habren in tow, walked over to join the conversation, and Lady Harriet wasted no time in informing them of the impending announcement. Hopefully it hadn't been meant to be a surprise; by the time Lady Harriet was finished, everyone in Denerim would have heard the news before it was officially announced.

"Tanith is getting betrothed?" Habren seemed surprised, which was interesting. If Habren hadn't already known about Tanith and Adric, surely they weren't marrying for love. This marriage must have been arranged, and rather recently, by their families.

"Yes, dear," Harriet replied. "Isn't it exciting? Never fear; it will be your turn soon, I'm sure."

Finally the conversation turned to something other than betrothals, and Loghain leaned close, his hand on Rhianna's arm. "Shall we see about refreshments?"

"I'd like that," she agreed, and they made their way into the parlor. A fire blazed in the hearth that dominated the far wall, and several tables were covered with an amazing selection of delicacies: sliced meats and cheeses, tiny filled pastries, stuffed mushrooms and deviled eggs and fruit, and an array of other things, all of which looked delicious.

She filled a plate for herself, and a glass of spiced wine found its way into her hand, and then she and Loghain went through the doors onto the outdoor patio. All the chairs and small tables were occupied, so they sat on the low stone wall separating the patio from the garden beyond, their backs to the manor so they could look out over the torch-lit garden.

"Shall we get in some sword practice after the Landsmeet tomorrow," Rhianna began, "or would you prefer to do something else? Father told me he suspects the session will end early. If there's still daylight left, I thought we might choose to get out of the city for a few hours."

He paused as though considering the question. "Well, if it's all the same to you, perhaps we could arrange a visit with Lady Harriet. I've had a strange desire lately to spend more time with her cats."

She fought back a grin. "That's a lovely idea. And with any luck, Habren will be there. We can ask her to sing for us, and recite the compilation of poetry she's written over the years in celebration of me. Starting with 'There once was a girl from Highever.'"

"Maker's blood," Loghain laughed. "That awful poem."

"I'm still not entirely sure what all of it means."

She almost clapped a hand over her mouth as soon as the words left her lips, realizing with some embarrassment that Loghain would be the one to teach her. Perhaps some day very soon. For a moment, her imagination took over as she considered what it might be like, being with him in that way. His body above hers, his breath warm on her skin. His bare skin beneath her own hands . . . the strength of his arms, the smooth muscles of his chest . . .

Heat rose up in her cheeks, and she hurried to add, "Unfortunately, I am sure the ladies of the Bryland family have had their social calendars for tomorrow filled up _years_ in advance. I doubt we could impose upon their hospitality on such short notice."

"Good point. In that case I'll let you decide what we do."

She took a breath, needing a moment to compose herself. "Well, if I get to pick, I say we find something tall, and climb to the very top."

Loghain chuckled. "I had guessed that's what you would say. You are nothing, my dear, if not predictable."

"What?" Rhianna gasped in feigned offense. "I am not predictable." She lifted her chin and looked out over the garden.

"No? So it isn't true you almost always suggest climbing to the top of tall things?"

"It most certainly is not true. I suggest other things. Sometimes."

"Like what? No, don't tell me. Let me guess. I predict you were going to suggest we walk together in Bann Nicola's garden." He leaned close and whispered in her ear. "Perhaps find a place to be alone for a few minutes?"

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she turned away from him slightly. "I was not going to suggest any such thing." She fidgeted, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. "All right, maybe I was going to suggest it." Finally, she looked back into his face. "But I could have guessed you were going to say the same thing, which makes you equally predictable."

Loghain reached out and took a lock of Rhianna's hair in his fingers. After rubbing the strand briefly between his finger and his thumb, as though enjoying its smoothness, he pressed it to his lips before releasing it again. "I'll wager you couldn't have predicted that."

"Loghain! What are you doing?" Rhianna glanced at the people nearby on the patio; fortunately, it didn't appear anyone was paying the two of them the slightest bit of attention. "Someone might have seen."

He turned to look out at the garden, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. "I thought you didn't care if people find out. That's what you said last night."

She giggled. "I don't care. But you do realize my father is here tonight. And if someone tells him Loghain Mac Tir is making love to his daughter out in the garden, he's going to demand an explanation."

"Fair enough," Loghain conceded. "I don't suppose Nicola's grand ball is quite the right venue for that discussion."

Rhianna studied his face. Discussion? Was Loghain saying he intended to speak to her father? She thought that was exactly what he was saying, and she worked to suppress the smile that threatened to take over her face.

"So," she said. "Shall we wander in the garden?"

Before Loghain could answer, they were interrupted by Leonas Bryland's approach. "Ah, there you are, Loghain!"

Rhianna kept her smile bright, in spite of the disappointment that coursed through her. She was usually happy to see Leonas; she loved him dearly, and considered him family even though they weren't related by blood. But right now, she wanted so much to spend a few private minutes with Loghain, and didn't welcome the delay.

"Hello, Leonas. How can I help you?"

"I wanted to thank you for what you said this afternoon, about not exempting farmers in the north from taxes. Esmerelle and Howe . . . I don't trust either of them when it comes to fair dealing with money." Leonas glanced at Rhianna. "I sincerely hope you won't feel the need to repeat that comment to anyone, my dear."

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," Loghain said. "Rhianna was the one who alerted me that harvests in Amaranthine were not poor this year, and that excess grain had been shipped off in secret."

Leonas' eyes grew wide, as he looked at Rhianna. "Were you, really?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I only found out by accident. The brother of a woman I know in Highever works on the Amaranthine docks, and he happened to be visiting when I was at their farm delivering a litter of pigs. He said he'd helped load tonnes of excess grain onto ships in the middle of the night. So, when Bann Esmerelle started telling the Landsmeet about a bad harvest, I suspected she wasn't being entirely honest."

Leonas laughed heartily. "Maker's blood, that can't have made the old bat happy." He looked sheepish. "Can we also pretend you never heard me call her 'the old bat?'"

"Your secrets are safe with me, Uncle Leonas. To be honest, I've never liked her. She always looks at me like I'm some filthy creature who crawled out from under a rock."

"Don't take that personally, my love." Leonas grinned. "Esmerelle looks at everyone that way."

As Rhianna laughed, another man approached. It was Ser Basil, the knight they met the previous night at the Gnawed Noble.

Ser Basil gave a polite, but somewhat strained smile. "Pardon me, Arl Bryland, but I wonder if you've seen Bann Curwen? Or his daughter?"

Leonas' brow furrowed. "Gordon Curwen? No, I don't believe so." Turning to his companions, he asked, "Have either of you seen the Curwens this evening?"

"No," Rhianna replied. "I expect they'll be here tonight, based on something Lady Harriet said. But I haven't seen either of them yet."

"Nor have I," Loghain added.

The man sighed heavily. "All right. Thank you." He gave a proper, if somewhat hurried, bow, and then stalked away.

"I wonder what he's on about?" Leonas said with a frown - an expression Rhianna had rarely seen on the arl's face.

She placed a hand on his arm. "You sound worried, Uncle. What is it?"

"Eh, probably nothing. I just wonder what he wants with Bann Curwen. It's . . . well, it's a bit of an awkward situation, really. Basil is a good man, and he's done well in my service. But his father was Orlesian, and held lands not far from Denerim during the Occupation. The same lands now held by Gordon Curwen, who gained them by killing Basil's father near the end of the Rebellion."

"Bann Curwen killed Ser Basil's father?" Rhianna frowned. "That is awkward."

"Yes. And now, I can't imagine what business the two of them would have with one another." Leonas shrugged. "Ah well, I don't suppose it's any of my concern."

Inside the main hall, the musicians struck up a rhythmic tune, signaling the first round of dancing for the evening.

"Ah!" The smile returned to Leonas' face. "That, on the other hand, sounds promising." He glanced at Loghain. "Begging your pardon, ser, for stealing your companion away, but," he turned to Rhianna, "I wonder if you would give me the honor of dancing the opening dance with me, Lady Cousland."

"With pleasure." She hopped down from the wall, and took the arm Leonas offered. When she glanced back at Loghain, he shrugged, an amused look in his eyes.

The first dance was a lively _saltarello_, and Leonas made the most of the occasion, hopping and jumping in such an acrobatic manner Rhianna couldn't help but laugh. Next, she danced with Teagan Guerrin, and then with Timothy Wulff, and finally with Dairren Blaydon. When the musicians signaled this first round of dancing was finished, Rhianna begged off getting refreshments with Dairren, and instead made her way to the far end of the room, where Loghain lounged against the wall.

"Good of you to return," he said.

"I'd never have left your side, had you asked me to dance."

"I never had the chance." He lifted a brow. "Who knew Leonas Bryland would be so quick to pounce! I'll have to be more alert when the music begins again. Although you appeared to be enjoying yourself."

"I was enjoying myself." She bit her lower lip, and caught his gaze again. "But I would much rather have been dancing with you."

"I don't suppose you'd be interested in that walk around the garden now?"

"A walk around the garden? How very predictable of you to ask," Rhianna grinned. "But yes, I believe I am interested in seeing what Bann Nicola's garden has to offer."

They left the main hall, and crossed through the patio into what proved to be an exquisitely manicured garden. The paths were bordered by hedges of lavender and privet, with flower beds here and there. Many of the flowers were still in bloom: purple heliotrope, delphiniums of blue and white and pink, and fading red roses, the final blooms of the summer still clinging to their stems. A reflecting pond dominated the landscape, and at its center sat a small island from which a graceful willow stretched its branches. A trio of small white egrets roosted among the leaves, puffed up against the chill night air. Torches had been placed at regular intervals, and Rhianna and Loghain moved from one pool of torchlight to the next as they strolled along the gravel paths through the otherwise dark night.

"I've never been to one of Bann Nicola's events before," Rhianna said. "Mother has often said Nicola is the 'very height of style and good taste,' and I can see why. Her home is magnificent."

"Well, it would have to be, wouldn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

Loghain lifted a brow. "You're not familiar with Nicola's background?"

"No. I've only met the bann a few times."

"Well, this isn't a story you'd have heard from her lips. And I suppose I'm not surprised you didn't hear it from your mother, either. The Baranti family have been nobility in Ferelden for a long time. For centuries. Bann Nicola's ancestress - her great, great grandmother, if I'm not mistaken - was outspoken in her loyalty to Ferelden, and fought long and hard against the first push the Orlesians made at the beginning of the Occupation. As a result, the Baranti family lost just about everything. Their land, their money, everything. Nicola's grandmother, and then her mother, survived by becoming prostitutes. The grandmother was known as the 'Whore of Denerim.' I believe Nicola herself was born in the Pearl."

"Maker," Rhianna breathed. "No wonder she doesn't speak of it."

"After the rebellion, Nicola petitioned to have all the lands that once belonged to her family restored, and of course, Maric granted them to her."

"Northmuir, in the Coastlands. She's one of my father's vassals, although she doesn't seem to spend any time there."

"No, she prefers to operate from her home here in Denerim, leaving a steward to oversee her bannric. And over the years, she's worked hard to restore both her family's fortune and good name. She supports a great many charities, and strives to present an immaculate appearance to the rest of the nobility, lest people be reminded of the skeletons in her closet."

"I think," Rhianna mused, "I like her even better, after hearing that story. I have more respect for her, anyway. It shouldn't matter what happened in the past, and anyway I don't see what there is to be ashamed of. If having sex for money is the best way someone has to make a living, it shouldn't be anyone else's business. After all, that's what marriage amounts to for some women isn't it? Commoners and noblewomen alike. Take Alysanne's marriage to Bann Krole. That was done for money. As, I'm guessing, is this arrangement between Tanith and Adric Baranti. I'm not sure I see the difference, really."

They had walked the length of the garden, which was ornate and beautiful, but not particularly large. Fortunately, few of the other guests had left the warmth of the manor, and Rhianna and Loghain found an isolated arbor where they seemed unlikely to be disturbed. With a sweep of his arm, Loghain indicated Rhianna should take a seat on the arbor bench, and he sat close beside her.

"When you put it that way, I'm not sure I see the difference, either. But there are a great many people who would disagree. So Bann Nicola has fought an uphill battle to get where she is today."

"She certainly seems to have succeeded in restoring her family's honor."

"Yes, that's true," he replied. "But perhaps we should talk about something else. Something cheerful."

"Must we?" Rhianna leaned close, her lips just inches away from his. "Perhaps we don't have to talk about anything at all."

When they pulled apart several minutes later, Rhianna curled up against Loghain's shoulder.

"I think I can predict what you're going to say next," she murmured.

"That we should return to the party?"

"Yes. That's exactly it."

"I suppose, this means I, too, am ridiculously predictable?" He placed a kiss on the top of her head.

"Indeed you are. But it's not a bad thing. I suppose we just know one another that well." Rhianna turned her face to his, giving him one more slow, tender kiss. Then, he stood and helped her to her feet.

Arm in arm, they made their way back through the dark garden. Before they reached the manor, the sound of raised voices could be heard from the other side of a tall hedge. With an exchange of surprised glances, they stopped walking.

"Is it true?" The man's voice sounded vaguely familiar. "Your daughter is to marry Adric Baranti?"

"I don't see what business that is of yours." Ah. If Harriet's rumor was correct, this second man must be Gordon Curwen.

"What business is it of mine? Of course it's my business! You've no other heir, so Drakon River will pass to your daughter on your death."

"Yes it will, and I still don't see what that has to do with you."

"Don't toy with me, man! It has everything to do with me, as well you know. Those lands should be mine! They belonged to my father, and now they should belong to me. You cannot give your daughter to Baranti. You must allow Tanith to marry me, so I may regain what is rightfully mine."

Maker. This must be Ser Basil. And, judging by the tone of his voice, he was becoming angrier by the minute.

"Are you mad? You would speak to me of rights? The lands held by your father were stolen in the first place, given to him illegitimately by an illegitimate king. Although, considering your mother was an elven whore, I suppose legitimacy is no great concern of yours!"

"You bastard!" Basil's shout rang out through the garden. "You dare insult me like this? After you gained those lands by murdering my father? Even so, I am not asking for satisfaction for that crime. I am only asking you to make this right by allowing me to marry your daughter. Allowing the bannric to pass to me in time, as it should have done when my father died."

"Never! Drakon River will never belong to you, and if you go anywhere near my daughter, you will regret it!"

"We'll see about that. Do not think this is the end of the discussion. I will speak with the king if that's what it takes for me to reclaim what is mine."

A moment later, Ser Basil came around the hedge, his face flushed and his fists clenched. Loghain and Rhianna stepped out of the way as he stormed past; he barely seemed to notice their presence.

"Maker's blood," Rhianna murmured. "Poor Tanith. Her betrothal is being announced tonight, and now this?"

"Yes, it's a bad business. I . . ." Loghain stopped, mid-sentence, his brow deeply creased.

"What is it? What were you going to say?"

Loghain glanced at her, and hesitated. Then he shrugged. "This is interesting timing. Ser Basil's name came up in a conversation I had earlier today."

"A conversation? With whom?"

"Someone I've known for years; Ser Greta is her name. She came to see me first thing this morning, with information she'd dug up about the Restorationists."

"That Orlesian society you mentioned last week?"

"Yes. Greta has investigated them for years, and thinks she might have uncovered something new. There's a clothier with a shop in the waterfront who she thinks might be channeling intelligence back and forth to the empress. Greta also named a few other people who might be involved."

"Let me guess. Ser Basil's was one of those names?"

"Yes."

"Uncle Leonas did say his father was Orlesian. Do you think Basil is trying to betray Ferelden? Do these Restorationists really pose some genuine threat?"

"It would be foolish not to assume the worst. Whether or not the Landsmeet wants to acknowledge it, Orlais, and those who sympathize with her, cannot be trusted. As far as any imminent threat they might pose, I honestly don't know. This clothier is the first possible link we've uncovered to the empress herself, should it prove to be legitimate. But even if they are not involved in actively plotting an invasion, there are other ways the Restorationists could undermine Ferelden. Driving up prices. Sinking merchant ships. It bears scrutiny. And I wouldn't be surprised to learn Ser Basil is involved. Clearly, he resents Gordon Curwen. If Basil believes he has some right to lands given his father by the Usurper, his loyalties cannot lie with Ferelden."

"Do you think the king will be willing to intervene in some way? If Ser Basil does speak to him about this?"

"I doubt it. Cailan lacks an appropriate distrust of our Orlesian neighbors, but I don't think he'd try and strip a Fereldan bann of his holdings, nor force some marriage on the daughter. No, I doubt Basil will find anyone willing to support him in this folly of his. It's troubling, though, that he would even think to try."

Troubling, indeed. And poor Tanith. Even though she had been unkind to Rhianna in the past, surely, she didn't deserve to be caught up in the middle of such a troublesome situation.

When they returned to the main hall, another round of dancing had begun. As the orchestra began a _basse danse_, Loghain turned to Rhianna and bowed deeply, a slight smile on his lips.

"Dance with me, my lady?"

"It would be my pleasure."

As they moved through the slow, gliding steps of the dance, thoughts of Ser Basil and Tanith Curwen slipped from Rhianna's mind, replaced by happier ones. An enjoyment of the dance, and the grace with which her partner moved. Loghain had never looked more handsome than he did tonight, in black leather trousers and a bright white shirt, with a dark blue jerkin over the top. In fact, the jerkin was almost the same shade as Rhianna's own dress, which hadn't been intentional. She smiled to think it might be the Maker's way of letting her know he favored a match between the two of them.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

From where he stood across the hall, Bryce Cousland watched his daughter move gracefully across the dance floor. Rhianna was all smiles, and he felt a flush of pride and gratitude for the beautiful young woman she had become. It was a nice change, these feelings. He'd been so distracted lately, what with the unpleasant situation brewing up in the Coastlands. He couldn't remember the last time he'd genuinely felt like smiling.

A glass of wine in his hand, Rendon Howe walked over and stood at Bryce's side.

"So," Howe nodded in the direction of the dancers. "How do you feel about that?"

"How do I feel about what?"

"Loghain Mac Tir courting your daughter?"

Bryce scoffed. "What are you talking about, Rendon? Loghain isn't courting Rhianna."

"Isn't he?" Howe lifted a brow. "Just look at them. They're very . . . comfortable together. And the two of them spend a lot of time in one another's company. A lot of time. It hasn't gone unnoticed."

"Of course they spend time together. They've been friends for years."

"Oh, yes. Friends. Although I must say I always found that a bit puzzling. He is such a lot of years older than she is. Difficult to imagine what interest a man his age would have in a friendship with a girl so very young. What do they find to talk about, I wonder?"

"From what I gather, they talk about the sorts of things you'd expect people to talk about. Politics, hunting, the weather. They spend most of their time on the practice field. Hardly the location for a romantic tryst. He's like an uncle to her."

"Perhaps." Howe took a sip from his glass. "I just worry you might not be seeing something that's happening under your nose." He paused. "There are rumors, you know."

"Rumors? What sort of rumors?"

"The usual sort. Of course, I don't give much credit to what the Denerim gossips have to say, but there has been talk. About Rhianna and Loghain. Well, about Rhianna and a number of people, but I'm sure most of it is merely idle talk. I'd have thought the stories about Loghain were idle talk as well. But seeing them dance together . . . Really, it's surprising to see Loghain dancing at all. In all the years I've known the man, I can recall him dancing only twice. At Anora and Cailan's wedding, and again tonight."

Rumors about Rhianna? This was the first Bryce had heard of such talk, but he didn't need to know the details to know there could be no possible truth in any such rumors about Rhianna.

"Nearly all of what is said behind closed doors in this town is nothing more than slander and lies. You of all people should know better than to listen to malicious gossip."

"Of course you're right, Bryce. Although . . . if this particular rumor happened to be true, it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. The Teyrn of Gwaren would be an excellent political match for Rhianna. Assuming you don't mind the possibility she might end up . . . well . . ." Howe's voice trailed off.

Bryce looked at him sharply. "Rhianna might end up what?"

"Well, like Celia Mac Tir. Everyone knows theirs was not a happy marriage, and he basically abandoned her after Queen Rowan's death, in favor of reestablishing his . . . relationship with Maric. And of course Mac Tir has a reputation for being violent. I know how precious Rhianna is to you. You would never want her to be harmed in any way."

An image flashed in Bryce's mind, unbidden: Loghain and Rhianna on the bench in the garden of the Highever estate. Loghain shaking Rhianna by the shoulders, while she appeared to be crying.

No. That moment had nothing to do with this, with what Rendon was suggesting. And if Loghain had any thought of marrying Rhianna, surely he would have brought up the subject long before now.

"I'm sorry, Rendon, but what you're saying is ridiculous. I can't imagine Loghain has any romantic interest in Rhianna. They are friends, nothing more. Loghain is hardly my favorite person, but he's been good to Rhianna." Eleanor's words; ironic Bryce should use them now. "Very good to her, over the years. He's saved her life, more than once. She might have died if he hadn't found her locked away in that tower, and again when the werewolves attacked at the Festival."

"Yes, of course. The tower. I'd forgotten about that. Very heroic of him." Howe paused. "And perhaps a bit too . . . convenient."

"Convenient?"

Howe shrugged, but remained silent.

"Convenient," Bryce repeated, becoming annoyed. "In what way?"

"Well . . . this tower. Did you ever visit it, afterward? I did. I found myself drawn there, curious, after I heard what happened to the dear girl. And it was rather far off the beaten path. How fortunate he should find her, in such a random location. I have long wondered what possessed Loghain to look there for her. Unless he already knew where to look."

"And how could he possibly have known where to look?"

"If he'd been responsible for luring her there in the first place."

"What? You're not seriously suggesting Loghain locked Rhianna in that tower, just so he could rescue her later? What possible reason could he have had to do such a thing?"

"Well, he's been 'close' to the girl ever since. What better way to gain her family's trust than to do something heroic, save her life? And now she's nearly of age, no doubt he hopes you'll be more amenable to making an arrangement based on that bit of shared history."

"I'm sorry, but I just cannot believe Loghain would have deliberately put Rhianna in any danger."

_Of course,_ the thought appeared in Bryce's head, _if whoever locked her away did it knowing she would be rescued before she came to any harm . . ._

"No, I'm sure you're right," Howe agreed. "It is a ridiculous thought. It's just . . . well, it's always bothered me, not knowing who locked the girl away like that. Such a despicable thing to do. But I'm sure Loghain couldn't possibly have had anything to do with it. Forget I said anything." He paused. "I suppose this means he hasn't approached you about making some arrangement for the girl's hand?"

"No," Bryce replied. "He hasn't."

"Well, I suppose that's that, then," Howe said. He took another long sip from his goblet of wine. "Hopefully he doesn't have intentions that are less . . . honorable. So," he added, before Bryce had time to respond, "have you decided about what you want to do about the business in Knotwood Hills? As I said, I'll be more than happy to make certain it's taken care of for you. In court, or away from the public eye, whatever you would prefer."

Bryce shot Howe an annoyed look. "This is hardly the time or place to discuss this. But yes. I have made a decision. I'll take care of it myself, as soon as the Landsmeet is over. Hobbes can see Rhianna back to Highever, and I'll travel with you to Amaranthine and talk to them. Find out the truth about what happened."

"As you wish." Howe took another sip of wine and fell mercifully silent.

His cheerful mood gone, Bryce again watched Rhianna on the dance floor. The orchestra was playing a bransle now, and Rhianna and Loghain moved hand-in-hand around the circle.

She looked happy. Of course, she was by nature a cheerful girl. It was true, though, that she was unusually fond of Loghain. It was difficult not to notice just how pleased she always seemed when Loghain was around. But surely, there was no harm in that. Even if Rhianna had some sort of youthful infatuation, that didn't mean there was anything to it on Loghain's part.

Although, there had been a strange moment, when Bryce and Hobbes had ridden out to try and find her. From a distance, it had appeared Rhianna was leaning against Loghain, that he was almost embracing her, as they rode double on his mount. Bryce had dismissed the thought as his own overactive imagination. He'd been so worried when she hadn't returned home by dark, what with the storm, and things that had happened in the past - assassins and poachers. And of course the news from Amaranthine had put him in an uncomfortable mood. And yes, he knew he was overprotective of his daughter at times, but he didn't know how to stop. Rhianna was as precious to him as anyone had ever been, and he only wanted the best for her, for her to be safe and happy.

Bryce appreciated Loghain's skills as a warrior and commander of the armies. But the same qualities that made him excel in these areas also made him a far less attractive husband for Rhianna. Bryce did not approve of a match between the two of them, regardless of what Eleanor thought. Thankfully, no offer of marriage had been extended.

But what of Howe's last comment? That Loghain's intentions might be less than honorable? It had never once occurred to Bryce that the man might toy with Rhianna and not intend to marry her . . .

No. Surely not. Loghain Mac Tir, for all his faults, was a gentleman. In all the years after the end of the Occupation, Bryce could not remember even once hearing so much as a whisper about the Teyrn of Gwaren being involved in any sort of compromising situation with a woman. If anything, there were rumors of a different sort entirely, rumors about Loghain and Maric. But either way, the Teyrn was not the sort to take advantage of a young girl.

Still, it was unusual to see him dance.

Come to think of it, Rhianna had been Loghain's partner the night of Anora and Cailan's wedding, too.

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When the final dance ended, Loghain led Rhianna from the floor. "I've just remembered," he said, "there's something I want to show you in the parlor."

As they crossed the room, Rhianna noticed Bann Curwen approach his daughter and Adric Baranti. The three of them moved toward the grand staircase that let to the upper floor, an elven servant in their wake carrying a tray with glasses and a decanter upon it.

In the parlor, Loghain stopped in front of a map that looked ancient.

"Maker's blood," Rhianna breathed. "This is gorgeous. What is it? The Tevinter Imperium?"

"Yes, at its most expansive. It's magnificent, isn't it? I noticed it earlier, before you arrived. It must be hundreds of years old."

Rhianna reached up and touched the spot that said "Highever." Her eyes traveled upward, taking in the vast expanse of what had once been the Tevinter Imperium: most of Thedas, including Ferelden and Rivain, Orlais and the Anderfels. Navarra. Antiva. The Free Marches. Near the bottom, she pointed at another name.

"Ostagar. The furthest south the Imperium ever reached."

A small triangular icon caught her eye, one of many that dotted the whole of the continent. "What is this?"

"You tell me."

"I don't know what it is. That's why I'm asking." She grinned. "Or perhaps you don't know, and are just trying to hide that fact from me?"

He raised a brow. "Well, I was going to tell you if you hadn't guessed after a minute. But now, I think I'll leave you hanging. Perhaps you'll even be clever enough to figure it out. It's not that difficult, really. Just look at them for a bit. "

"You won't tell me? That's not very nice," Rhianna chided. Then, she turned her attention back to the map. She traced her finger over several of the marks, trying to discern a pattern. They were distributed over the whole of Thedas, but not evenly spaced.

"All right. I should be able to figure this out. With or without your help."

"There you are, Pup," her father said, appearing at her side. "I thought I would come and see what you were up to."

"Hello, Father. I'm glad you're here. Loghain is being horrid. Perhaps you can help me."

"Loghain is . . . what?" Her father's voice sounded a bit strained.

"I'm trying to figure out what these marks are." She pointed to one of the triangles. "And he refuses to tell me. Assuming he even knows what they are himself."

"Hmmh." Loghain grunted, causing Rhianna to giggle again.

"I'm sorry, Pup," Bryce said. "I'm afraid I can't help at all. I have no idea what they might be. Is this a map of the old Imperium?"

"Yes," Rhianna confirmed. "And, since it appears I'm going to have to solve this mystery on my own, I need to think it through carefully." She pointed to a spot in southern Ferelden. "There's one here, at Gwaren. But there isn't one at Denerim. Which means they must not denote cities. Especially since there is one here," she pointed at a spot south of the Coastlands, "where there isn't a city anywhere nearby, and never was, as far I as know. And they're all over Thedas. Perhaps military outposts of some kind? Except, again, why wouldn't there be one at every city? There was certainly an outpost at Denerim." She glanced at Loghain. "Is any of this getting me closer to a solution?"

He merely shrugged his shoulders, a slight smile playing across his lip.

"Oh, fine. Be that way." She turned back to the map. "Now, this makes wonder. There is one here, at Orzammar. Which isn't a human city at all. It's not even on the surface."

Loghain made a soft sound in his throat, so quiet she wasn't sure she'd heard it. But when she turned to him, his smile was a bit wider, and one of his brows lifted slightly.

"I'm on to something, aren't I?"

Again, he shrugged.

"All right. Let's see . . . Orzammar? It isn't a human city, nor is it on the surface . . . the surface? Hah!" She laughed out loud. "The surface! That's it! I know what they are. They're entrances to the Deep Roads. That's why they're all over Thedas, but not at every city. And some of them are far away from any sort of civilization aboveground, but perhaps there were thaigs underground not marked on this map." She looked up at Loghain in triumph. "I'm right, aren't I?"

Loghain chuckled. "Of course you're right. And it took somewhat less time than I expected."

When she gave him an indignant look, he winked.

"You are horrid," she laughed, before turning her attention once more to the map. "Now then, the story you told me, when I was five. You came out of the Deep Roads right at Gwaren. But which entrance did you go in? With Maric and Rowan and the elven woman."

"This one." Loghain pointed to the one Rhianna had noticed south of the Coastlands.

"Really? That's not far from Highever. I must have been nearby it at some point, but I don't remember seeing anything that looked like an entrance to the Deep Roads. Is it still there, do you think?"

"Yes, it's still there. It's not much to look at, really. From afar it just looks like a outcropping of rock with a shallow cave inside. But there is a door. After the Occupation ended, Maric and I made certain the entrance was sealed up tightly."

Before Rhianna could respond, Lady Harriet rushed up.

"Listen to this!" she said, breathless. "There's a knight here at the party, I'm not sure if any of you know him, but he's been in Leonas' service the past few years. And apparently, his father was the Orlesian lord who held Drakon River bannric before Bann Curwen."

"Yes," Loghain said. "Ser Basil. Rhianna and I were introduced to him last night."

"Well," Harriet continued. "Apparently he and Gordon Curwen had an altercation a few minutes ago. In the garden." She dropped her voice to a whisper, but somehow it still carried over a great distance. "Ser Basil threatened to kill Bann Curwen if he didn't promise to allow him to marry Tanith, and return to him the lands that were 'stolen' when Gordon killed the knight's father years ago!"

"Threatened to kill him?" Rhianna asked, with a glance at Loghain.

"Yes!" Harriet breathed excitedly. "And on the very night Tanith is to be engaged to another man!"

"That can't be right," Rhianna said. "Loghain and I were out in the garden earlier, and heard the two men talking. They were angry at one another, but Ser Basil made no threats, except to say he intended to speak to King Cailan about it. Certainly, he didn't say he was going to kill anyone."

"Yes," Loghain affirmed. "I heard the same."

"Hmnh," Harriet snorted. "Well, clearly you didn't hear the entire conversation. I wonder if this is going to change anything regarding the engagement!"

"I should hope not," Bryce said. "Ser Basil has no claim to those lands, nor any grounds for hoping to marry Gordon's daughter."

Somewhere upstairs above the main hall, a woman's scream split the air.

"They're dead! They're all dead!"

For a moment, a stunned silence hung in the air.

Then, chaos broke out among the party guests downstairs.

‹O›

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Thank you so much to my beta readers Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my reviewers: KrystylSky, DjinniGenie, Melysande, Serena R. Snape, Milly-finalfantasy, Skidney, Dragonmactir, SwomeeSwan, Shadowfang, Purplechaos3214, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Psyche Sinclair, and GLCW2. Your help and support means the world to me.

There is a dollmaker image of Rhianna's gown, which you can find by following the "Extras" link on my profile.

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	57. If I'm to go to the Maker

_**5 August, 9:29 Dragon  
Northmuir House, Denerim**_

‹›‹O›‹›

From somewhere on the second floor of the Baranti manor, a woman's scream split the air.

"They're dead! They're all dead!"

The music in the main hall died abruptly, and for the space of a breath, the crowd of partygoers on the main floor went silent.

Then chaos erupted, as panicked guests grabbed at one another and shouted out questions, or looked around wide-eyed, or froze in confusion, or ran for one of the doors. A few women shrieked, and one of them - Daniela Fahren, wife of the Bann of Abervale - slumped to the floor of the parlor in a faint.

Loghain hesitated only a moment before he rushed from the parlor and headed toward the stairs. Rhianna ran after him.

They reached the broad staircase just as Captain Braedon began climbing the steps. At first, he put up his arm to block Loghain and Rhianna from going upstairs. When he recognized Loghain, however, some of the tension left the guard captain's face, and he indicated they could follow.

Across the narrow hallway at the top of the stairs, a door led into a parlor. Just inside the doorway, a young woman with short blonde hair stood sobbing, her shoulders shaking and her face in her hands. Two men lay motionless in the center of the floor, eyes wide and faces pale. Beyond them stood Ser Basil, a dagger in his hands dripping blood. At Ser Basil's feet, Tanith Curwen was curled up on the floor, clutching her side and moaning. Blood stained the fabric above her right hip.

"What in the Maker's name happened here?" Captain Braedon shouted, as Rhianna ran to Tanith and knelt at the older girl's side.

Startled, Ser Basil dropped the dagger, and it clattered loudly against the wooden floor.

"I . . . I c-came in and found the men dead, and the girl stabbed. I don't know what happened!"

"That's not true!" The blonde girl near the door raised her arm, and pointed at the knight. "I saw him. I saw him do it!" Once again, she burst into sobs.

"Lorraine!" Basil's voice was ragged. "What are you talking about?"

"Everyone stay calm." Braedon crossed the room and grabbed Basil roughly by the arm. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

Rhianna took one of Tanith's hands; it was alarmingly cold.

"Tanith?"

The girl merely whimpered in response.

"Tanith," Rhianna repeated, with more force.

The girl struggled to open her eyes, and finally succeeded in focusing them on Rhianna's face. Thank the Maker.

"Rhianna? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me, Tanith. Everything's going to be all right."

Letting loose of Tanith's hand, Rhianna tugged at the fabric over the girl's hip and found a small tear where the dagger had passed through. Tearing the hole wider to examine the skin underneath, Rhianna discovered blood seeping freely from a stab wound in Tanith's side.

Rhianna glanced over her shoulder. "Loghain! Send someone to the palace for the healer. And bring a poultice. Please!"

Loghain nodded once and ran from the room.

Rhianna calculated the distance in her head. The palace was ten minutes away on foot - five if the messenger hurried - plus the time it would take Jocelyn to return. No no no. That would take too long. Tanith was bleeding heavily enough she might not survive unless something was done to staunch the flow.

Pushing herself to her feet, Rhianna crossed to a small round table in one corner of the room. She grabbed the edge of the tablecloth and yanked at it, sending a pair of ornate silver candlesticks and a crystal decanter of wine toppling over. They crashed loudly to the floor and the decanter shattered, spraying drops of blood-colored wine across the room.

Rhianna wadded the fabric into a makeshift pad, and knelt beside Tanith again. She covered the bloody wound and pressed down as hard as she dared.

"Blessed Andraste!" Bann Nicola stood in the doorway, a hand flung across her mouth in horror. She hurried to her grandson's side, kneeling beside him. Taking his face in her hands, she leaned down as if feeling for breath from his lips. "Oh, Adric, my darling boy, no. NO!" She pulled him into her arms and cradled his body, sobbing.

"You, girl," Captain Braedon asked, addressing the young woman whose scream had first sounded the alert. "What is your name?"

"Lorraine, ser." She stood near the door, no longer sobbing, but looking no less terrified than she had when Rhianna and Loghain arrived.

"What exactly did you see?"

"I saw . . ." She glanced at Ser Basil. "I saw him . . . Ser Basil. He stabbed the young lady with that dagger," she inclined her head to the bloody weapon on the floor at Ser Basil's feet.

"What?" Ser Basil shouted. "What are you talking about, Lorraine. You know you saw no such thing! Why are you lying about me?" To the captain, "I know this woman, ser. She's my squire. She's always been faithful in the past, so I don't know why she's doing this. I wanted to marry the Curwen girl, not see her dead!"

Tanith whimpered softly. Her face was alarmingly pale against the shocking brightness of her red hair, and her breath was shallow and patchy.

"Tanith!" Rhianna wanted the girl's attention. If Tanith could just stay awake long enough for the healer to arrive, she might come through this alive. "Tanith, can you hear me?"

The girl's eyes fluttered open, and she moaned softly. "Yes."

"That's better," Rhianna said. "Tanith, I need you to look at me. Just keep looking at me, and listening to my voice. Will you do that for me? Please?"

"I'll try. Rhianna, it hurts."

"I know it does. But you're going to be all right. Do you understand? Loghain has called for the healer, and she'll be here any minute now. You've just got to stay awake until she arrives. That's all you've got to do."

"Where is my father?"

"He's right here, Tanith. He's right here beside us, and you'll be able to talk to him as soon as the healer takes care of your wound."

Loghain returned, poultices in hand. He rushed to Rhianna's side and knelt beside her. "These were in my saddle bag, and someone has gone to the palace for Jocelyn."

"Please help me," Rhianna whispered. "I'm afraid to stop pushing. I'm afraid she'll bleed to death."

"You're doing the right thing," he reassured, unwrapping a poultice and opening the vial containing healing salve. "Keep talking to her, while I treat the wound."

"Teyrn Loghain is here now too, Tanith," Rhianna soothed. "And he's going to give you a poultice. It might hurt for a moment, but then it will feel better. All right? You've got to be brave."

"All right."

Captain Braedan spoke from across the room. "Ask her what she saw."

"Tanith." There was no response. "Tanith!" Rhianna repeated, a little more loudly. "Stay with me. Please, Tanith, you've got to stay with me!"

She whimpered softly. "I'll try."

"I need to ask you a question, Tanith. Before the healer gets here. She's on the way, I promise. Her name is Jocelyn and she's lovely, and she'll be here any minute. While we're waiting, I need you to tell me what happened. Who did this? Who stabbed you?"

"I don't know." Her voice was cracked and ragged. "We were talking about the engagement. Did you know I'm betrothed to Adric Baranti now?"

"Yes, Lady Harriet told me, and I'm so happy for you. He seems like a lovely man. And very handsome."

Loghain shifted Rhianna's hands out of the way, and carefully spread salve over the wound.

"He is handsome," Tanith agreed. "But I . . ." She seemed to lose her train of thought for a moment, "I don't know him very well, though."

"There will be plenty of time for that later," Rhianna lied. "That's why you've got to hold on for the healer, yes? Is there anything else you can tell me about what happened?"

"We were just talking. Father and Adric had a glass of wine, and suddenly my father fell to the floor, and then Adric as well, and then I felt a pain, such a horrible pain in my side."

"Did you see anyone else in room?"

"Only the woman who brought in the wine. An elf. She set it on the table, and then she must have left again. I never saw anyone else."

Having finished applying the salve, Loghain urged Rhianna's hands back into place to keep pressure on the wound. Then, he settled his hands on top of Rhianna's, and pressed down gently along with her. Their hands were stained red, and a pool of blood had formed on the floor. Rhianna felt nauseous to see just how much blood Tanith had already lost.

"Keep her talking," Loghain murmured. "Just keep her talking long enough for Jocelyn to arrive."

Rhianna searched her mind for a topic, a happy memory that the two young women shared. But all the memories of Tanith that came to mind involved Rhianna being bullied by some combination of Tanith, Habren, Thomas and Alysanne.

Finally, she thought of something that, while not exactly happy, at least wasn't horrible.

"Do you remember the first time you and I met?"

"I remember. It was on Satinalia, wasn't it?"

"Yes, the Satinalia when I was five years old. How old were you?"

"Six. I think I was six."

"That sounds right. And you and the others were playing Knights and Chevaliers."

"Yes. Thomas and Habren didn't want you play. They said you were stuck up and thought yourself better than everyone else, and Habren always wanted to play Rowan. She never let anyone else play Rowan."

"Yes, and I certainly wasn't going to play one of the Orlesians."

"And then Thomas pushed you down, and you broke his nose. I told Prince Cailan it was Thomas' fault. He was being so nasty."

"And now look at us," Rhianna said, forcing a cheerful tone. "All grown up. Much too old for Knights and Chevaliers."

Tanith began to sob.

"No, no, no," Rhianna urged. "Don't cry, Tanith. Everything is going to be all right, do you hear me?"

"No, it isn't," she whispered. "I'm dying, I know I am."

"You are not dying, Tanith! All you have to do is keep talking to me. For just a few minutes more."

Oh, hurry, Jocelyn. Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry. What was taking her so long?

"I'm sorry, Rhianna. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

"For the way I treated you all these years." Tanith's voice was thin and weak, barely audible. "Laughing at you with Habren, spreading awful rumors about you. I knew none of them were true, I knew you'd never lain with all those men, but I told people anyway."

"Oh, hush, Tanith. None of that matters."

"Yes, it does." She took a breath that rattled in her chest and sent a shudder through her body. "If I'm to go to the Maker, I need to be honest about the bad things I've done. And ask forgiveness."

Tears sprang up in Rhianna's eyes, and she blinked them away. "You don't need forgiveness, Tanith. You're going to be just fine. But either way, it's all right. If it makes you feel better, I forgive you. Which means the Maker will have to forgive you as well."

Tanith smiled, and turned to look up at Rhianna. "I . . . I . . . Thank you." Her eyes fluttered closed, and her head lolled to one side.

"No . . .NO!" Rhianna shouted.

Loghain tugged at Rhianna's shoulders, urging her to get to her feet. At first, Rhianna struggled against him, not ready to give up on Tanith. She couldn't be dead, she just couldn't.

A blue-robed woman knelt at Tanith's side, and Rhianna realized Loghain had only been pulling her away to give Jocelyn room to work. Relieved, Rhianna allowed Loghain to help her stand. Unsteady on her feet, she leaned against him, and he slid an arm around her shoulders.

Jocelyn ran her hands over Tanith's body and face, and with a motion familiar to Rhianna from so many sessions at Fort Drakon, the mage cast a healing spell. She directed the orbs of blue light at the wound above Tanith's hip.

Rhianna held her breath as the light merely hovered above the girl's body, not being drawn into the wound. Was it too late? Was Tanith already dead?

_Please, Andraste, no. Let her be alive. Please let her be alive._

Then, almost as though it were being inhaled as a breath, thin tendrils of light drifted into the wound, slowly at first, and then in a rush, until the whole of the magic had been drawn into Tanith's body.

With a gasping breath, Tanith filled her lungs with air.

Tears sprang to Rhianna's eyes, tears of relief, and she pressed her face against Loghain's neck as he pulled her tight against his chest.

"Thank you, Andraste," Rhianna whispered.

Tanith's eyes blinked open, and Jocelyn helped Tanith sit up.

"What . . . what happened?" Tanith's voice was muffled with confusion. "My father . . . where is . . ." She glanced around the room, her gaze falling on her father's motionless body. "No, no, no," She whimpered, and tried to push herself up to her feet, but she was too weak, and slumped back to the floor. Jocelyn grabbed one of Tanith's arms to steady the girl, and Rhianna left Loghain to move to Tanith's other side, putting an arm around her shoulder.

"Please help me, Rhianna," Tanith moaned. "I need to see my father."

"Not just yet," she urged. "Let the healer see to him first."

Once Rhianna had hold of Tanith, helping her stay upright, Jocelyn crossed the room to examine the two men. Surely, though, it would be hopeless. They had appeared dead when Rhianna and Loghain arrived several minutes ago. And there was no magic powerful enough to bring the dead back to life.

After only a brief examination, Jocelyn stood. She looked at Tanith and shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "He's gone. They both are."

"No!" Tanith turned to Rhianna, falling against her and clinging to her shoulders as Tanith began to cry silently. "Please," Tanith begged. "I need to go to him."

Rhianna helped the girl to her feet, and supported her as she stumbled awkwardly across the room to her father's prone body. There, Tanith collapsed onto her knees, laying her face against her father's chest as she sobbed quietly.

There didn't seem to be anything more Rhianna could to do help Tanith, not at this moment, anyway, so she backed away, returning to Loghain's side. Again, he put an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him, grateful for his solid presence.

For a moment, everyone in the room watched Tanith as she cried onto her father's lifeless body.

Finally, Captain Braedon's voice broke the silence.

"How could you?" The comment was directed at Ser Basil. "How could you do something like this? Attacking these people on what should have been a happy day?"

"It wasn't me," Basil replied. "I swear it."

"Then who was it?" Nicola Baranti pulled herself up from Adric's side. "Someone murdered my grandson, and if it wasn't you, then who?"

"I don't know." Basil's eyes were wide, and his jaw slack. All the color had drained from his face.

"What were you doing up here in the first place?" Braedon asked. "This is the family's private quarters; you had no business here."

"I came upstairs after one of the servants gave me a message, telling me Bann Curwen wanted to speak with me. When I arrived, the two men were lying on the floor, and the girl was leaning against the table, her back to me, the knife in her side."

"You expect us to believe this?" Braedon still gripped Ser Basil's arm. "When your own squire says she saw you do it?"

"Lorraine didn't see what she thinks she saw!" Ser Basil shouted. "Yes, I had the dagger in my hand, but I didn't stab the girl. I told you, when I arrived, she had already been stabbed! I merely pulled the dagger out of her body! I was trying to help, I swear it."

"You pulled out the dagger?" Loghain sounded incredulous. "If that's true, you're an idiot, and you very nearly killed her whether or not you were the one who made the attack. She wouldn't have bled nearly as much had you left well enough alone!"

Braedon turned to Lorraine. "What exactly did you see, girl? Did he stab the bann's daughter or not?"

"He . . . he stabbed her, s-ser. I saw the dagger in his hand." Lorraine's gaze fell, and rather than meeting the eyes of anyone in the room, she stared at the empty sofa against one wall."

"Stop this, Lorraine! Please! I did not do this thing!"

She looked back at the guard captain. "I know what I saw, ser. Ser Basil was angry. He wanted the bannric from the girl's father, and when Bann Curwen said no, he must have decided to kill her instead."

Rhianna looked from Ser Basil to his squire and back again. Something strange was going on here. Something beyond the fact of the murders. Stories that simply didn't match up. How is it Ser Basil managed to stab Tanith, when she said no one else was in the room?

And there was something about Basil. The look in his eyes, the surprise in his face. When he said he didn't do it, Rhianna believed him.

"But what about the others?" Rhianna asked. "Adric, and Bann Curwen. They weren't stabbed. What killed them?"

"Poison," Jocelyn replied. "Most likely in the wine they were drinking."

"I had nothing to do with any poison!" Ser Basil's voice shook.

"I don't know who killed the others," Lorraine said. "Perhaps it was the elven woman I saw lurking when I first came in."

"Elven woman?" Captain Braedon looked around the room, as if expecting an elf to magically appear. "What woman?"

"I don't know, ser. I'd never seen her before. She must have slipped out when no one was looking. But she was standing over there," Lorraine pointed at the table - now empty - from which Rhianna had pulled the tablecloth. "Beside the wine decanter."

"I did see an elven woman coming up the stairs earlier," Rhianna said. "She was carrying a tray with a decanter and glasses. But . . ." Her voice trailed off.

Wine decanter? The same one Rhianna had sent crashing to the floor. Oh, Maker. That wine, the wine staining the floor and the walls and Rhianna's own gown, was almost certainly the stuff used to poison the two men.

"What did she look like?" Braedon asked.

"She wore a dark red gown, and had blonde hair," Rhianna replied. "Shoulder length, with braids pulled back from her temples."

"There is no such woman in my employ," Bann Nicola said. "Not even the temporary help I hired for this party."

"Then perhaps she was a paid assassin?" Basil's voice sounded hopeful. "And it must have been her who stabbed the girl."

"And yet you were the one holding the dagger," Braedon said dryly. "I don't think we need worry about mysterious elves. I have little doubt we have our murderer right here."

"No," Basil pleaded. "I swear, I did not do this."

"That will be for the king's seneschal to decide," Loghain said.

Ser Basil's shoulders sagged, and he made no further protest as Captain Braedon tied his hands behind his back, and took him into custody.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

The main floor was in chaos, and rumors were flying: Bann Curwen and his daughter were dead, and Adric Baranti along with them, or maybe they weren't. They had been attacked by an elf, or perhaps it was that knight from South Reach.

The royal healer had been summoned, and Bryce had seen her arrive and hurry upstairs just a few minutes earlier. That, at least, seemed a good sign someone was still alive.

"Begging your pardon, my lords and ladies."

Bryce turned toward the sound, a man's voice at the top of the staircase. It was Bann Nicola's seneschal, a dwarf called Bando, if Bryce's memory served.

"Bann Nicola regrets to inform you this evening's festivities are at an end. I must ask all of you to please take your leave, as calmly and efficiently as possible. I apologize for the inconvenience, but an unavoidable circumstance dictates it to be so."

Amidst a great deal of murmuring among the guests, people began to surge toward the front entrance, but Bryce had no intention of leaving, not with Rhianna upstairs. She had followed Loghain after the screams were heard; surely, she was in no danger. But Bryce needed to get upstairs and see for himself.

He began to make his way toward the staircase, struggling against the flow of people trying to leave the manor. Fortunately, before he'd gone halfway across the room, he spotted Rhianna and Loghain coming down the stairs.

Rhianna's face was pale and her eyes looked haunted, but when she caught sight of her father, her gaze softened and she veered toward him.

As she approached and he got a better look at her, he was struck with a wave of nausea. Rhianna was covered in blood. Her gown appeared to be soaked from the hip down along one side, and there were spatters on the light colored fabric of her bodice. Both her hands were stained red. Loghain's clothes were only slightly less soiled - his white shirt was stained around the cuffs, and there were several larger streaks on the sleeves, and his hands, too, were bloody.

Bryce hurried forward. "Rhianna, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assured him. "But Tanith's father is dead, along with Adric Baranti. The two of them were poisoned, I guess, and Tanith was stabbed, but she's going to be all right. Jocelyn arrived in time to save her." Her lower lip trembled, but her eyes were dry.

"Oh, Pup." He stepped forward, wanting to embrace her.

At first she moved toward him, but then she stopped, and backed away again, putting her hands up, palms toward him.

"No, don't. Look at me, I'm covered in blood. I did my best to help her, kept the wound pressed closed. There's no sense in ruining your clothes, as well." She blinked her eyes, slowly, as though fighting back tears, and then turned to Loghain, leaning against him as he put his arm around her shoulder.

Bryce should have felt grateful; Rhianna was upset and needed to be comforted, and clearly she was receiving that. What should have been a grand celebration had turned into a tragedy, a rather epic one. But something about the way she turned away from him, and into Loghain's arms instead, left Bryce uncomfortable, almost hollow.

A moment later, they were joined by the Brylands. Habren, her face stained with tears, rushed toward Rhianna, clutching at her arm.

"You were upstairs? Is it true? About Tanith? Is she dead? Is Tanith dead?"

"No," Rhianna said gently. "Tanith's not dead. She was wounded, but the healer arrived in time. She'll be fine. Her . . . her father wasn't so fortunate, nor was Adric Baranti, but Tanith is alive."

"Oh, thank the Maker!" Habren threw her arms around Rhianna, and for a moment Rhianna froze, surprise etched plainly on her face. Bryce knew the two girls were anything but friends; that much had become clear on Funalis. But after a moment, Rhianna brought her arms around Habren's shoulders in a somewhat awkward embrace.

"I should go up and see to Tanith," Leonas said. "She can come home with us tonight, stay until she . . . well, it's going to be a lot for her to adjust to, with her father dead."

When Leonas moved toward the stairs, Habren followed. For a moment, Harriet merely watched them, her face pale and her eyes dazed, her jaw quivering slightly.

"Harriet," Bryce said, placing his hand on her arm, "would you like to come home with Rhianna and me?"

She blinked. "Oh. No, thank you Bryce. I . . . I should help Leonas. See to the girls."

As Harriet bustled toward the stairs, the Couslands and Loghain made their way across the hall, and out the main entry.

Outside, the crowd was surprisingly quiet and organized as carriages were called for, and people stood around waiting for theirs to be brought forth. Bryce asked a man dressed in Bann Nicola's livery to bring the Cousland carriage, and the man bowed and hurried away, but it was obvious it would be some time before the carriage would appear.

"Father," Rhianna began, "if it's all right with you, I think I'll walk home. Waiting for the carriage seems . . . well, I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed at the thought of standing around here that long. And it feels good to be out in the night air."

"You're welcome to ride Aeran," Loghain offered. "And I'd be happy to accompany you," he turned to Bryce, "unless you would like to ride with her. The horse can easily carry both of you. I'll stay here, and make certain the carriage is returned to Highever House."

"That's very generous of you," Bryce replied. "Rhianna, would you prefer to ride?"

"Yes, please."

Bryce turned back to Loghain. "Then perhaps you wouldn't mind taking her home? I'll wait for the carriage. I'm in no hurry."

Loghain nodded. "As you wish."

Bryce watched the two of them leave the courtyard together. He wasn't sure why he'd suggested Loghain escort Rhianna, instead of taking her home himself. But Rhianna was upset, understandably so, about what happened upstairs. And to be honest, Bryce was at a loss for how to comfort her. Whatever she needed right now, perhaps Loghain was better prepared to offer it.

Or perhaps Bryce was just determined not to believe the worst about their relationship, and what Rendon said earlier be damned. Loghain was a gentleman. He and Rhianna were friends, nothing more.

‹›‹O›‹›

Bryce returned to Highever House just before midnight. Getting everyone home had taken a while to sort out, and Bryce had spent some time with Leonas and Captain Braedon discussing the events of the evening. Leonas was adamant Ser Basil couldn't possibly have committed a crime such as this, although in the end, even he had to admit finding the man with a bloody dagger in his hand was fairly damning evidence.

Bryce heard voices in the library, and then a woman's laughter. It was a slow, throaty chuckle that sounded like Eleanor when she was feeling . . . playful.

But Eleanor wasn't here . . .

It must have been Rhianna. But what – or, rather, who – had elicited a laugh like that from her? Maker's balls. Was Rendon right about her relationship with Loghain?

Fearing he would walk in to find his daughter half-naked on the sofa, Bryce took a deep breath and walked into the library.

Loghain was seated on the sofa, and Rhianna stood at the side table several feet away, a decanter in her hand. Her eyes were bright as she prepared to pour a glass of port. She had changed clothes and bathed; no visible traces of Tanith Curwen's blood remained.

"Father!" She smiled even more brightly when she saw him in the doorway. "You're home! That took longer than I'd expected. Would you like a glass of something? I'm pouring port, but I'd be happy to get you a whiskey, or anything else you'd like."

Shame, thick and hot, washed over him. Rhianna wasn't making love to Loghain on the sofa, but merely laughing at some shared joke. Bryce was letting his imagination run away with him, no doubt due to Rendon's idiotic suggestion earlier in the evening.

"Port will be fine, Pup. Thank you."

Bryce sat in a chair near the fire, and Rhianna brought his glass, and then handed one to Loghain as well, before settling herself on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her body.

"That was a bad business tonight," Loghain said.

"Yes," Bryce agreed. "A very bad business."

"I can't imagine how Tanith must feel right now," Rhianna said. "Losing her father and her fiancé, all on the same night. I suppose this makes her the new bann of Drakon River, unless someone decides to challenge her for it."

"The only person likely to do that would be Ser Basil," Bryce replied, "and he won't be in a position to make a claim, even if the King's seneschal should happen to find him innocent."

"Do you think that's possible? That he'll be found innocent?" Rhianna asked.

"I doubt it," Loghain said. "He was found with a bloody dagger in his hands."

"Yes," Bryce agreed. "I spoke with Braedon, and he certainly seems convinced Ser Basil is guilty. Of stabbing Tanith anyway. Apparently, there is a witness who claims to have seen some mysterious elven woman in the room, and Braedon thinks it's possible this woman might have poisoned the two men."

"Lorraine," Rhianna added. "I think that was the witness' name. She's Ser Basil's squire. And there was an elven servant. I saw her follow the Curwens and Adric Baranti upstairs, carrying a decanter of wine."

"That does sound suspicious," Bryce said. "Likely the wine used to poison them."

"Yes, that's what I thought as well. But it doesn't really make sense, does it? That some strange elven woman would have poisoned the two men, and Basil would coincidentally have stabbed Tanith on the same evening? Unless they were working together."

"It seems more likely this elf is being blamed for something she had no part in," Loghain said. "Probably, she did nothing more than bring the wine upstairs, wine subsequently poisoned by Ser Basil."

"But if he was planning to poison everyone," Rhianna began, "why stab Tanith? Why not just poison her as well?"

Loghain shrugged. "Perhaps she refused to drink any of the wine? Especially if her father and Adric both collapsed before she'd taken a sip."

"Perhaps," Rhianna agreed. "But she didn't mention anything about that. She said she hadn't seen Ser Basil in the room at all. How could he have come up and stabbed her without her noticing? The whole thing seems . . . strange."

"I certainly have no problem believing Ser Basil killed all three of them without any assistance," Loghain said.

"Really?" Bryce lifted a brow. "Leonas speaks very highly of him. He's not at all convinced the man is capable of a crime like this. And I thought you just met him for the first time last night."

"I did. And I realize Leonas knows him better than I do, but I learned something interesting about Ser Basil this morning, from Ser Greta. You know her?"

"Yes, of course," Bryce replied.

"She believes Ser Basil is a member of the Society for Return of Imperial Rule. He clearly resented Gordon Curwen, and wanted to get back the lands held by his father during the Occupation. If the man believes he has some right to lands given by the Usurper, his loyalties cannot lie with Ferelden."

"What will happen to him," Rhianna began, "if he's found guilty?"

"He'll be hanged."

"Hanged?" Rhianna bit her lip.

Loghain frowned. "What's on your mind?"

"I . . . I just can't help thinking there is something . . . off about all this. Remember the conversation we overhead in the garden?"

"Conversation?" Bryce turned to his daughter. "The one Harriet mentioned, when Basil threatened to kill Gordon?"

"Yes, but that's just it. Ser Basil never threatened to kill anyone. Both men were angry, yes, and Ser Basil demanded to be the one to marry Tanith. But he never threatened any sort of violence. He said he would go to the king, that's the only threat he made. And then we saw him walk away."

"Just because there was no spoken threat," Bryce said, "doesn't mean much, Pup. They were angry. It's easy enough to believe he decided to follow them upstairs and act on that anger."

"Yes," Rhianna replied. "Of course he could have decided later to kill them. But what bothers me is that someone told Lady Harriet a death threat had been made. Someone went to the trouble to start a rumor about it. And whoever started that rumor was lying. I can only think of one reason to lie about something like that."

"To implicate Ser Basil in the murders," Loghain replied.

"Yes," Rhianna agreed.

Bryce let out a long breath. "And the only person with a reason to do that would be someone who intended to kill the Curwens himself."

"That's exactly what I'm thinking," Rhianna began. "And if Ser Basil really didn't do this, if someone else attacked those people and lied about Ser Basil to make him look guilty, that's just not right. And I wasn't entirely convinced by Lorraine's story, either. I just feel there is more to this than appears on the surface."

Then she sighed, and shook her head. "Or perhaps not. Probably he did it. Like you said, he had the dagger in his hands, and he was angry when we heard him in the garden. Even so, there . . . there was just something about him, how surprised he seemed by what had happened. When he said he didn't do it, he seemed to be telling the truth."

"People are capable of great deception," Loghain said. "Perhaps he's just an adept liar. And if he is plotting against Ferelden with the Restorationists, he deserves whatever comes to him."

Deep creases formed in Rhianna's brow. "Do you really believe that? If he proves to be a member of this society, planning to betray Ferelden, then he should be punished for that. Not executed for other crimes he may or may not have committed."

"That's true, Pup. But it's out of our hands," Bryce said. "The seneschal will hear all the evidence, and decide what's to be done."

"The seneschal doesn't know about the rumor," Rhianna insisted. "How will he know that someone might have lied?"

Loghain considered her face for a moment, his eyes narrowed. Then he sighed. "You could testify about it. About what we heard in the garden."

"Would that be possible?"

"Yes," Loghain replied. "I'll take you to Fort Drakon first thing in the morning. Make certain the seneschal hears what you have to say before making a decision."

Rhianna's eyes warmed with gratitude, and a smile spread across her face. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that. And then afterward perhaps I'll go visit Tanith. See if there's anything I can do to help."

‹O›

o

‹O›

o

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As usual, an enormous thank-you to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum. A lot of assistance was given with this chapter, and figuring out how best to deal with the suddenly infamous Ser Basil. And a big thank you to all my lovely reviewers, as well: DjinniGenie, GLCW2, KrystylSky, KatDancer2, Tyrannosaurustex, Shadowfang, Serena R. Snape, Milly-finalfantasy, Dragonmactir, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and SwomeeSwan.

‹›‹O›‹›


	58. The Royal Hunt

_**8 August, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Royal Stables, Denerim**_

‹›‹O›‹›

"Ah ha!" Teagan Guerrin muttered, as he found what he was looking for. Or hoped he had.

He was in one of the empty stalls in the royal stables, poking around for a spare set of tack. His mount's bridle had broken, and he came here in search of a replacement. The jumble of leather straps and buckles in his hand looked promising, and he perched on a hay bale to untangle it.

He always enjoyed the royal hunt, partly for the excitement it offered, but mostly because it meant the Landsmeet had concluded. It was always a relief when that particular duty was finished for another year. It's not that Teagan didn't enjoy being in the city from time to time, and the Landsmeet itself was interesting enough, but he'd never enjoyed politics and he vastly preferred the slower pace of life in Rainesfere.

He tugged at one of the straps, but a leather thong was wrapped tightly around it and held fast. This would require nimble fingers and some patience. As Teagan settled himself down for the task, footsteps approached, accompanied by a murmur of low voices. Someone - well, two people, judging by the whispers - entered the next stall over.

"What are we doing in here?"

A man's voice. And not just any man; unless Teagan was mistaken, that was the voice of Loghain Mac Tir.

Thinking to greet the teyrn, Teagan prepared to pull himself off the hay bale. But as he considered how to lay down the tangle of tack without it falling back into complete disarray, a woman's laughter echoed in the room.

"What do you think we're doing in here?" Her voice had a playful, sing-song quality, more than a little flirtatious, but he didn't recognize the speaker.

Perhaps the man who had spoken wasn't Loghain, after all. It sounded as though a pair of young lovers had snuck into the stable for a moment of privacy, which made it unlikely the gentleman in question was the Teyrn of Gwaren. Teagan wasn't aware of Loghain being romantically involved with anyone. In fact, he couldn't remember ever hearing those sorts of rumors about Loghain at all. Unless the Denerim gossips had completely failed in noticing, which seemed unlikely. Then again, the Denerim gossips had, mercifully, never caught wind of Teagan's own romantic affiliation. So perhaps it was possible.

Either way, it would be polite to stand and make his presence known, but he hesitated. Regardless of their identities, the couple might not appreciate being caught together like this.

No. Better to keep quiet and let them believe they were unobserved.

And, he had to admit he was curious. Was it Loghain? And if so, who was his companion?

"Well, I can only assume you have something to show me. Historically, that's the reason you've dragged me all around various gardens and into the wilderness, up mountains and down cliffs." The man paused. "Puppies? Mountain lion cubs? Perhaps a young griffon?"

The man was without a doubt Loghain; he did have a distinctive voice. Perhaps this wasn't a tryst, after all.

"There are no cubs or puppies or griffons in here," she giggled.

"Well," he said, his voice gruff, "If we're here for the horses, you do realize they're already saddled outside in the yard."

"Oh, I am well aware. But do you realize we're about to spend the entire day surrounded by other people? We might not have any time to be alone all day long. We might not even get to ride out in the same party." She paused. "I'm only thinking of your welfare, Loghain Mac Tir. I don't want to take any chance you might expire during the day. From a dearth of kisses."

Maker's blood.

It was Loghain. And a woman. In what was most assuredly a romantic tryst.

This was by far the most interesting thing Teagan had encountered in quite a long time. But who was she? Her voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't yet place it.

"My welfare?" the teyrn replied. "That's very considerate of you."

There was an extended silence, in which, presumably, the aforementioned kisses were being delivered.

Finally, the woman spoke again. "Well, perhaps I wasn't concerned for your welfare alone. I doubt I can make it through an entire day without the feel of your lips on mine."

Another long silence. Teagan sat perfectly still, for fear of jangling the tack or making any other sort of noise that would alert them to his presence. Such a thing would be acutely embarrassing for all three of them.

Maker. Hopefully they didn't intend to make love there in the stable, just a few feet from where he was sitting. That would be awkward in the extreme.

Mercifully, the woman spoke again. "Do we really have to go on the hunt today?"

"What's this? I thought you'd look forward to a day in the woods."

"Yes, that part sounds lovely. But I'd much rather it was just the two of us riding out together, without a bunch of other people. We've spent so much time with other people lately. Day after day in the Landsmeet. The ball at Bann Nicola's." She paused. "I don't mean to complain. I've enjoyed all of it, even the evening at the Gnawed Noble last week. In spite of King Cailan being somewhat overbearing."

The Landsmeet? The mystery woman was attending the Landsmeet. And she had been with them at the Gnawed Noble. Surely, it wasn't Alfstanna. Although it had never been stated outright, Teagan was fairly certain Alfstanna and her companion, Lady Helene, were romantically involved, and had been for some time.

The only other women who had joined them at the table were Habren Bryland and Rhianna Cousland.

Maker's breath. Rhianna Cousland.

Suddenly, it seemed painfully obvious. For years, she and Loghain had spent a lot of time in each other's company. They'd been out together the night he and Cailan came across them walking through the city. And they'd been gone rather a long time, looking for Rhianna's earring.

She was younger than Loghain by several years, not yet even of age, if his memory served. Not that this mattered; Teagan was only a few years younger than Loghain, and had intended to approach Bryce Cousland with an offer for the girl's hand. Eamon had become increasingly insistent of late that Teagan marry and produce an heir. Something would not be possible with his current partner. And Rhianna was, by all accounts, a lovely girl.

But apparently, her heart had already been claimed, judging by the pleasure in her voice, and the fact she'd snuck into the empty stables to share a few minutes of intimacy with Loghain.

"Oh, please. Can't we go off somewhere by ourselves?" Her tone was persuasive, but light; clearly, she was joking. "Surely no one will notice if we aren't there."

Loghain chuckled . "I suspect there are one or two people who would notice my absence. And at least a score who would notice yours. It's even possible some of them might put two and two together if both of us turned up missing at the same time."

"Other than my father, who would care if I'm there or not?"

"Who would care? Just about everyone. Cailan wasn't exaggerating when he said you are the most interesting person in Denerim at the moment."

"But I don't want to be interesting. Not to anyone but you." When she spoke again, her voice was throaty, her tone warm. "Do you think I'm the most interesting person in Denerim?"

"You, my dear, are the only interesting person in Denerim. For all I care, you could be the only person in all the world."

Again, the conversation lapsed.

Maker's blood. Loghain Mac Tir, involved with the Cousland girl. In and of itself, this could be written off in a variety of ways. It was an incredibly good political match for both of them, and Gwaren needed an heir. But this was no political arrangement. Loghain was clearly enamored of her, and she of him.

Was this official, yet? Had Bryce been consulted? Probably not, judging by the interaction between the three of them at the Gnawed Noble and at Bann Nicola's ball. Not that it mattered. Loghain Mac Tir was one of the most powerful and well-respected men in Ferelden. When Loghain asked for the girl's hand, it would be granted.

"All right, so I suppose people are likely to notice if we don't show up at all. Especially my father, who knows I'm here somewhere." Rhianna giggled. "But we will be able to ride out together, won't we? You can arrange for that to happen?"

"Probably, yes." He paused. "I always ride out with Cailan, so I can keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn't run off and do something stupid and get himself into trouble."

"Is he like Maric in that way? Keen to rush off through secret doors and such, like at Thornhill?"

"Yes. He's very like his father." There was a hard edge to the Teyrn's voice.

"You're angry with him, aren't you? Cailan, I mean."

"What makes you say that?"

"Don't be silly. I've known you my whole life, and I know you well enough to tell when you're angry, even when you can hide it from everyone else. Like the day the three of us visited Thornhill. You were angry at Maric on the way home, and I never could figure out why. And now you're angry with Cailan. Has he done something in particular?"

"Cailan was an arse to you. Not that Cailan being an arse is unusual. But it was spectacularly inappropriate for him to discuss your marriage prospects with you sitting at the table."

"I agree, and it was awkward. But you were already cross with him before that happened. When we first encountered him and Bann Teagan in the street." When Loghain didn't respond, she continued. "Does it have something to do with Anora? With what she told you the other night at the duck pond? I'm assuming she did confide in you."

"Yes." A moment of silence. "Yes, it's about Anora."

"She's not sick, is she? I heard she's not coming on the hunt today. Is she sick? Or with child?"

Loghain laughed humorlessly. "No, Anora is not ill. And is certainly not with child."

"What is it, then?"

There was a long pause. "It's Cailan. Anora caught him with one of the serving girls from the castle."

"Caught him? You mean . . . Cailan was in bed with another woman?"

"There wasn't an actual bed involved - they were in one of the sitting rooms - but, yes."

"Maker's blood, that's awful! But I don't understand. I thought Cailan and Anora were happy together. That they love one another."

"I think they do love one another. But apparently that isn't good enough for the king. Like father, like son."

That was an alarming statement. What was Loghain suggesting?

Rhianna's words reflected the same thought. "Are you saying King Maric was unfaithful to the Queen?"

"Oh, no. No, not like you're thinking. While they were married, he was true to Rowan. As far as I know. But before and after her," Loghain paused, "well, Maric was in the habit of falling in love with women who weren't the most suitable partners."

"Women who were unsuitable? In what way?"

"Elven women. Which shouldn't have been a problem. I've known a great many elves in my life, and they're no different than we are, not in any way that matters. But Maric was the king, and I doubt Ferelden was ready for an elven queen."

"Oh." Rhianna's voice was subdued. "Was the serving girl - Cailan's serving girl - was she an elf?"

"Yes. Although Cailan doesn't seem to discriminate. This isn't the first time he's been caught with his pants down, and some of the others were human."

"Cailan's done this before? More than once?"

"Yes. To be honest, I was grateful we came upon him and Teagan in the street that night. Cailan was diverted from an evening at the brothel, which was clearly where they were headed."

"And Anora knows about it? About all of it?"

"Yes."

"I honestly don't understand." Rhianna's voice was earnest. "I suppose I could see being unfaithful to someone horrible, or to someone you were forced to marry against your will. But Cailan could have married whomever he wanted. And Anora is lovely. She's smart and kind and really beautiful. Why in the world would Cailan ever want anyone else?"

"That's a good question."

"I always thought Cailan seemed so . . . nice. So friendly and cheerful. Not the sort of man to do something horrible like this. What is she going to do about it?"

"There's not much she _can_ do. She's told him it hurts her, and he always promises not to do it again, and she believes he's sincere when he says it. But then he does it again."

Loghain was obviously and understandably distressed by the situation. The queen was his daughter. But he was right. What was there to do? It wasn't as though Anora could ask for a divorce. Cailan was the king. And if the marriage was troubled, that might explain why Anora had yet to produce an heir.

"Poor Anora," Rhianna lamented. "I can't even imagine. It would make me so very unhappy to be married to someone who . . . well, for whom I wasn't . . . enough."

"That will never happen to you, Rhianna. I swear it."

Another silence ensued. After a time, it was punctuated by small sighs and the occasional moan.

Teagan considered what he'd overheard. He knew Cailan had been unfaithful; that part came as no surprise. It's the reason Teagan was willing, from time to time, to escort the lad to the Pearl. If the king was going to stray, it seemed safer for him to do it with women who would ask for money, and nothing more.

But that Cailan had been so careless with his infidelities as to get caught, that he was carrying on with servants in the palace, and Anora knew about these other women? That was another matter entirely. It had to stop. Teagan would speak to Cailan about it himself, at his earliest opportunity. Sometime today, preferably.

Loghain's last words had been interesting. The only way he could honestly assure Rhianna that her future husband would be faithful was if Loghain himself intended to be that husband. The thought brought a smile to Teagan's face. Especially on the heels of this news about Cailan's bad behavior, it was pleasant to think that somewhere in Ferelden were at least two people who loved one another and had a chance to live their lives together openly.

After several minutes, Rhianna spoke again. "I do wish we could spend the whole day together. Alone."

"We will. Tomorrow. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

"Anywhere?" Her voice was mischievous. "Can we go to Antiva?"

"Antiva?" He chuckled. "Why Antiva?"

"Why Antiva? I should think that would be obvious. It would take days to get there on the boat, and then days to get back. And all of those days, I wouldn't have to share you with anyone else. Besides, you promised to take me there. In one of your letters, remember? Because the food is so delicious."

Loghain laughed heartily. "I do remember. And I would enjoy a trip to Antiva with you."

"Hah!" Rhianna exclaimed triumphantly. "Then you like the idea of going somewhere far away? Of having days and days with no one but me for company?"

"Yes. I like the idea very much. But it takes time to arrange passage on a ship. So, on such short notice, perhaps you would be willing to ride somewhere, instead?"

Rhianna gave an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, all right. Then let's go to Hafter."

"Hafter?" Loghain scoffed. "Why Hafter?"

Rhianna giggled. "That's where I went with Bann Teagan, while you were away at sea. We spent a lot of time in the town, because they were having their First Day festival. Well, the second day of First Day. Apparently, they like festivals in Hafter so much they go on an extra day. Anyway, just to the west of town is a sort of . . . mountain. But Bann Teagan and I didn't have time to climb it, and I've never had the opportunity to go back. So, I thought maybe . . ."

Loghain chuckled. "You really are the most predictable creature. What did I say the other day? You'll always look for the tallest thing around and want to climb it?" She giggled, and then he continued. "Although, to be fair, I would never have predicted you'd want go to Hafter. That's an easy day trip from Denerim. A quite reasonable suggestion. After that business about Antiva, I expected you would choose a spot somewhat farther away. Redcliffe perhaps, or Rainesfere. What about Kinloch Hold?"

"Not Redcliffe. I've no desire to visit Arl Eamon. He always looks at me like he's making plans in his head about me. It makes me nervous. And Kinloch Hold sounds horrible with all the Templars, and besides it's too close to Highever. Rainesfere might be a good choice, though. It's supposed to be lovely, and I expect Bann Teagan would be a very gracious host. He's always been very kind to me."

"Oh, yes. Teagan. I remember there was that business at Anora's wedding, when he said you were pretty. I'm not sure I like the idea of that happening again. So perhaps we'll stay away from Rainesfere."

She giggled again, but then went quiet for a moment before continuing. "Maybe we could go to Gwaren. I've never been to Gwaren. Will you take me there?"

It took a moment for Loghain to answer, and when he did, his voice was deeper than usual. "Yes. I will take you to Gwaren. Not this week, but someday. I promise. How is it," he continued with a soft chuckle, "you've always been able to get inside my head?"

"I don't know. Maybe the same way you've always been able to get inside mine?"

"I suppose so. It's just . . . funny. As long as I've known you, you've always seemed to understand me. Perhaps better than anyone else ever has."

"I feel like that about you, as well," she replied. "In fact," she continued in a mischievous voice, "I bet you can guess what I'm thinking right now."

"You're thinking we should leave the stable and get our horses?"

"No."

"You're wishing you'd brought a bonnet, so your freckles don't get darker in the sun?"

She laughed. "I have freckles? I didn't know I have freckles."

"Yes, you have freckles. Just a few, and they're quite charming. Here," he paused. "And here. And here."

Rhianna chuckled, a sound that came from deep in her throat. "That still isn't what I was thinking."

"No?"

"Don't tell me you've suddenly lost the ability to guess."

"Hmnh." Loghain paused. "Then perhaps you were thinking about this?"

After a pause that lasted the space of several breaths, Rhianna replied. "Yes. That's exactly what I was thinking."

"Can you guess what I'm thinking?" Loghain asked.

"That you need at least one more kiss to survive the day?"

His laugh was deep and seductive. "Something along those lines, yes."

Teagan closed his eyes, and leaned carefully back against the stable wall, trying to occupy his mind with thoughts unrelated to the moment the two occupants of the adjacent stall were sharing.

A few minutes later, a horn sounded from somewhere outside: the call to the hunt, a signal for everyone to gather together in preparation to ride out for the day's adventure.

"Oh." Rhianna's voice was laced with disappointment. "That means we have to go, doesn't it?"

"Sadly, yes. It wouldn't do for us to hurry in together at the last moment, both out of breath. Someone would surely start to suspect."

"I told you. I don't care. I don't care who knows. It's not as though I'm ashamed of you. I could never be anything but proud to be with you, Loghain Mac Tir."

"Thank you." The teyrn's voice was less steady than Teagan had ever heard it before. "And I feel the same about you. It's just . . . we need to do this properly."

Teagan didn't hear her response.

A few moments later, he heard the couple's footsteps recede as they left the stables. Teagan stood and stretched his legs, which were stiff from sitting in one position for so long.

That had been extremely interesting. Rhianna and Loghain. An auspicious match, for both of them. She would be a Teyrna, and could no doubt give Gwaren an heir. And politics aside, it seemed they had a chance at happiness. They had sounded comfortable together, not awkward at all, and clearly enjoyed one another in a physical way, as well.

Teagan smiled. With any luck, both the Maker and blessed Andraste would smile upon them, and give them a long and happy life together.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

A bird with brilliant white feathers dropped out of the sky, pulling herself up sharply at the last moment to land on Rhianna's gloved forearm. The girl made kissing noises at the bird, and was rewarded by the gentle press of Gwyn's hooked beak against her lips. At Rhianna's feet, Dane barked a greeting to his avian friend.

All around them, people and horses and hounds milled about the courtyard outside the royal stables. As Rhianna swung herself into Faolan's saddle, another rider came up close beside her.

"Good morning, Aeran," she said, addressing the horse rather than his rider. But then she turned her eyes on Loghain, unable to keep a satisfied smile from creeping across her face. She was still giddy from the time they'd spent tucked away in one of the empty stalls in the stables.

"What are you smiling about?" he asked, although the way his mouth turned up at one corner suggested he already knew the answer.

"Nothing I can say with all these people around," she grinned.

Another rider approached: Cailan, in his shining golden plate armor. As he pulled up beside Rhianna, he gazed at the bustle all around with an excited smile on his face, like a child at Satinalia anticipating the moment he could open his gifts.

"Good morning, Loghain," Cailan said cheerfully. Then his eyes fell on Rhianna. "And Lady Cousland! Just the person I was hoping to see this fine morning." He looked up into the brilliant blue sky. "We couldn't ask for a better day. The weather is perfect, don't you agree?"

"I do indeed," she replied.

"And I have a favor to ask you."

"A favor, Your Majesty?"

"I am eager to see if what my father said about your tracking skills is true. To that end, I would like very much if you would accompany me and my uncle today. Please say yes. I should hate to have to resort to issuing another royal decree."

"No, no! Not another decree," she laughed. In any case, she had no intention of refusing the offer; Loghain planned to ride with the king to keep him out of 'trouble.' "I would be honored, Your Majesty."

"Excellent!"

Bann Teagan rode up beside the king. "Good morning, Lady Cousland," he said with a nod of his head, and something of a crooked smile on his face. "And to you as well, Loghain."

"Hello, Bann Teagan." Rhianna favored him with a warm smile; she hadn't forgotten how he'd stood up for her at the Gnawed Noble regarding her dislike for killing things. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm well, thank you. Once I finally managed to sort out replacing some worn out tack." He jiggled the reins held loosely in his hands.

"Perfect timing, Teagan," Cailan said. "With the three of us here, we're ready to go."

"The three of us?" Rhianna was confused. "Loghain will ride out with us, won't he?"

"And Eamon," Loghain added.

"Eamon's not here. In Denerim, I mean," Cailan said lightly. "He and I had . . . words last night. He was being quite unreasonable, and when I didn't agree with what he was saying, he decided to go back to Redcliffe. I heard he rode out at dawn."

"Cailan." Teagan's voice held a hint of reproach. "Eamon didn't leave because of any argument you had with him. He received a letter from Redcliffe last night. There was some sort of emergency."

Cailan's eyes grew wide. "What sort of emergency?"

"Something about a fire in the castle. I understand no one was injured, but, as you might guess, my brother was concerned for the safety of his family. Connor, in particular. So, I hope you won't hold a grudge against your uncle for leaving town suddenly."

"Hold a grudge against Eamon?" Calian laughed. "Don't trouble yourself about such things, dear uncle. How could I possibly hold a grudge against Eamon? The man everyone thinks well of - when they remember to think of him at all."

Cailan laughed again, although Rhianna didn't think the joke was particularly funny. Nor did Teagan, judging by the look on his face.

Before anyone could respond, Cailan continued. "So yes, it will be the three of us. You and I and Lady Cousland. I've decided to take her advice. If we're to hunt boar, we'll be disadvantaged by having a dozen horses and hounds making a ruckus. So, it shall be the three of us, plus my hound and hers. Everyone else can split up as they choose."

Rhianna glanced at Loghain, a silent plea to make sure he managed to invite himself along.

"A small party is fine, Cailan," Loghain began, "but I insist on accompanying you. Since I'm the one who would have to break the news to my daughter, should any harm befall you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Loghain," Cailan said dismissively. "I've ridden out countless times with my uncle, and it's always been fine in the past. What in the world do you expect could happen to us? "

"Actually," Teagan interrupted, "I was hoping to ride out with the Teyrn this morning." When all present turned to look at him, he shrugged. "I understand you've recently had some news about the Society for the Return of Imperial Rule. If that's true, I was hoping to hear more details about it." To Cailan, he added, "So I, for one, would be pleased if Loghain would join our party today."

Loghain's brow creased, but he didn't hesitate in answering. "Yes, I had a conversation yesterday with Ser Greta. She's been following the Restorationists' movements for several years." Loghain turned to Cailan. "So, that is settled then?"

Cailan rolled his eyes. "Oh, very well. You will have your way, won't you, Loghain?"

Rhianna glanced at Teagan to find his eyes on her. She smiled at him, not quite able to contain her gratitude, even though he couldn't possibly know just how much it meant to her that Loghain would ride out with them.

If the other nobles were surprised to hear that Cailan intended to ride out with such a small group, they seemed to take it in stride. Long before the others organized themselves for the day, the King's party rode out, heading south.

The day was beautiful: warm and breezy, enormous white clouds piled high overhead. Only occasionally did birdsong break the silence of the countryside; the northward autumn migration was already well underway, and many of the songbirds had already left Ferelden to overwinter in Antiva or Seheron, or even farther north, in mysterious Par Vollen. Dane had made friends with Cailan's hound, whose name was Old Dan, and the two dogs loped along well ahead of the horses, with Gwyn in the air overhead.

"So, Rhianna," Cailan began, "I understand you testified before my seneschal the other day, on behalf of that knight from South Reach."

"Yes, Your Majesty, I did."

"From what I heard," Cailan replied, "the evidence against him was somewhat damning. Found clutching a bloody dagger? What makes you so certain he wasn't the one who did it?"

"I'm not certain. But there were some things that just didn't add up about the whole situation. What I found most troubling is that someone started a rumor about Ser Basil, saying he threatened to kill Bann Curwen. And Loghain and I overheard the conversation between the two men, and know for certain Ser Basil never said any such thing. I just wanted the Seneschal to know that, know that perhaps there was someone else out there willing to lie about Ser Basil to make him look guilty for something he hadn't done."

"You must have been persuasive," Calian replied, "as the man was found innocent."

Rhianna chucked. "Honestly, I think the decision was made on the strength of Leonas Bryland saying he believed Ser Basil to be a man of good character."

"That," Loghain added, "as well as what Bann Nicola said. Although that's not to say you weren't persuasive, Rhianna. I doubt Leonas' word would have been enough to set the man free had you not spoken on his behalf."

"What's this about Bann Nicola?" Bann Teagan asked.

"She was there, as well, when we spoke to the seneschal," Rhianna replied. "In the end, when I said I wasn't convinced Ser Basil was guilty, she came forward to say that no matter how much she wanted to see justice done on whomever murdered her grandson, she didn't want to falsely condemn an innocent man, just for the sake of having someone to blame."

"The thing that troubles me," Cailan began, "is that if this knight really is innocent, then someone else is to blame. Someone who's still running around free in the city. I heard something about an elven servant who might have been responsible?"

"An assassin posing as a servant, no doubt," Loghain corrected.

"Yes, of course," Cailan replied. "At any rate, we've got the guard looking for her, but I doubt they'll have any luck. It's nigh on impossible to get any cooperation from the elves in the Alienage. If we're not careful, they'll end up rioting over this."

"Rioting?" Rhianna looked at Cailan. "But why? Wouldn't they want to turn over a murderer, if they found her in their midst?"

"Doubtful," Teagan said. "The elves tend to stick together, especially against any official sort of push to control them."

"Yes, it's gotten increasingly tricky dealing with business in the Alienage," Cailan lamented. "Not that I've ever set foot inside. My guards won't allow it; they say it's too dangerous. And now Nicola is pushing for me to come up with a more permanent solution, and I'm starting to think that might be the best thing, all the way around."

"A permanent solution?" Rhianna had no idea what that meant, but it sounded alarming. "What sort of solution?"

"A purge," the king replied. "Put them on ships, and send them off to bother someone else for a while. Antiva, perhaps. Or Seheron."

"What? You can't just pull people from their homes and send them away like that," she exclaimed.

"Oh, not all of them," Cailan chuckled. "Maker knows I wouldn't do something like that. No, I just think it might be of benefit to send the guard through to round up the criminals and troublemakers. Make sure there aren't any mages hiding themselves from the Chantry. It's nothing that hasn't been done before, many times in the past. Nicola said she'd be more than happy for her own personal guard to be the ones to do it. I might allow it, before things get so out of control that people get seriously hurt."

"It's true," Loghain said, "if conditions get so bad riots or disease breaks out, innocent people in and out of the Alienage will suffer."

"Exactly," Cailan said. "So putting the troublesome ones on ships sounds like the best idea all the way around. Not that we have all that many ships to spare," he grinned. "And we won't be having any new ones any time soon, after the way you defeated Alfstanna in yesterday's debate, Loghain."

"Well I'm not sure I'm ready to rule out Ser Basil as the murder," Loghain added dryly. "For an 'innocent' man, he certainly fled the country very quickly. I must say that makes me less certain of his innocence."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," Teagan said. "If I'd been accused of a crime like that, I might seek out a new place to live. Somewhere people wouldn't wonder if I was a murderer every time I stepped outside my front door."

"Perhaps." Loghain sounded unconvinced. He had disagreed with Rhianna about Basil's innocence, and she was grateful he'd been willing to take her to speak to the Seneschal, in spite of believing Ser Basil was guilty. "I suppose I can take comfort in the knowledge he's likely on a ship bound for Orlais. And good riddance. One less member of the Restorationists to worry about."

"Ah yes. The Restorationists," Teagan said. As the conversation shifted, Rhianna grew quiet, content to listen to Loghain and Teagan discuss information uncovered by Loghain's friend, Ser Greta. Cailan interrupted frequently, but his comments were as likely to be randomly based on their surroundings as anything to do with the conversation itself.

The companions - four humans, two hounds and a hawk - reached the woods in about an hour's ride. At the edge of the forest – a relatively open wood of deciduous trees and meadows without a great deal of brush underneath - Cailan brought his horse to a stop.

"All right, Lady Cousland. Where do you suggest we start looking?"

"If we're looking for boar, we should start near a water source. A lake or stream. Then, look for signs a herd has been in the area. It's too early yet for them to be digging up acorns, but we'll still see signs where they've torn up the dirt looking for roots."

"There's a seasonal pond about a mile south of here," Loghain suggested.

"That sounds like a good place to start searching," Rhianna agreed.

This was the part of the hunt Rhianna dreaded most: the moment she'd be asked to lead the way to the animals. It felt like such a betrayal. Animals were her friends, or potential friends. And going out to find them so they could be killed was awful, especially given her ability to communicate with them.

Certainly, she never called out to them while on the hunt, but occasionally they came to her. She tried to discourage this by blocking whatever part of her mind communicated with them. She didn't call out, nor answer any of their greetings.

Instead, she relied on tracks and scat and other signs that wildlife had passed through. That's something anyone could do, after all, and afterwards she stayed in the background and allowed others to do the actual hunting. She was still quite good at locating animals, but at least she didn't feel she'd lured them to their deaths with the promise of friendship. And it's not as though hunting was bad, or morally wrong. People needed to eat, the same as wolves and bears and everything else. Still, she hated it.

As the party turned their horses to the south, Loghain gave her a warm, understanding smile. He knew how difficult this business of the hunt was for Rhianna. He'd asked her about it once, after she'd taken him and Maric hunting near Highever, at the king's request.

She'd been truthful, and had admitted she hated it. Since then, although Loghain had come along with her on hunts organized by other people, he had never since suggested a hunting expedition in the woods around Highever or anywhere else.

When they arrived at the pond, everyone dismounted, and they looked for signs on foot, fanning out around the pond.

She caught Dane's eye. "Why don't you and Old Dan see if you can pick up any scent?"

Dane barked once, and then he and the other hound began to work their way around the pond, noses to the ground. Rhianna's hound had no qualms about chasing down his quarry; it was one of the things he loved best.

After a few minutes, Calian shouted, "I think I've found something!"

Sure enough, the dirt had been torn up in big chunks, a clear sign wild pigs had rooted in the spot. The two hounds soon picked up the scent, and hurried off into the wood.

Cailan returned to his mount, and retrieved a spear about six feet long, with a cross-piece in the center. Then, he followed after the dogs.

"Your Majesty!" Rhianna called to him. "You can't just run after the dogs. Wait until they've found the boar, and then we can all approach together, carefully. Boars are dangerous when cornered."

"Don't worry, Rhianna," Cailan laughed. "I know what I'm doing."

"Cailan!" Loghain grasped the king by the arm. "Rhianna is right. Besides, we need to move quietly or we'll scare them all away."

"This is precisely why I wanted to leave you behind today," Cailan said. "You worry too much, Loghain. They're just hogs." Teagan approached, just as Cailan pulled away from Loghain's grasp. "You're right about one thing: if we make too much noise, we're never going to find anything at all! So stop making a fuss, and let me go after them."

He hurried off after the hounds. Teagan gave Rhianna a worried glance, and then followed after the king.

Rhianna frowned. "I suppose we should go after them."

"Yes," Loghain replied. "Are there really boar in the area?"

Rhianna closed her eyes and reached out with her mind to scan the wilderness around them.

"Yes. Dane is on the trail of a male, an adult. The king has hunted boar before, hasn't he? He knows what he's doing?"

"He's hunted boar, but not like this. In the past, he's always used beaters, and made the kill from horseback."

"That's nothing at all like this. We'd better hurry."

Rhianna's stomach felt heavy with dread. She hadn't expected Cailan to rush off like that. What if she'd led him into danger? It might have been better if the dogs hadn't picked up the scent at all.

Together, she and Loghain followed the trail made by their companions. Up ahead, Dane barked, clearly a warning, a sound filled with something close to panic. After a glance at Loghain, Rhianna broke into a run.

Following Dane's voice, they came to a small clearing to find Cailan and Teagan face to face with a wild boar.

The creature was enormous, standing nearly waist high to the king, with sharp tusks easily four inches long. And it was furious, pawing and stamping its hooves, and tossing its head from side to side. Dane's barking ceased as soon as Rhianna appeared, and he crouched low beside Teagan, teeth bared. Cailan's hound danced in front of the boar, barking frantically.

Cailan held the spear out in front of him, legs slightly bent at the knees.

"That's it, Cailan," Teagan urged. "Lower the point so he'll run himself right onto it when he charges. But slowly; you don't want to scare him into charging before you're ready."

Not bad advice, unless the creature charged at Teagan, who was armed with only a sword, a weapon that was no match against an animal that size. Really, the best thing would be for them to all back away. And for Cailan's hound to stop barking. Rhianna sent a soothing message to the dog, hoping to calm him, and Old Dan stopped mid-bark, and looked over at Rhianna, blinking almost as though confused. At least he was silent now, and that was an improvement.

Cailan was in position now, the spear angled up with the point at the height of the boar's chest. Still, Rhianna was nervous. She'd never seen a boar this big before, and even with her mind closed, she could feel the tension coming off him, along with fear, and anger. This was a dangerous animal, and Cailan's spear seemed ridiculously inadequate for the task.

"All right, you brute," the king taunted, and leaned forward as if to steady himself for the force of the animal's impact. "I'm ready for you."

The boar went still, its beady black eyes trained directly on Cailan. For a moment, all was silent and still, as though the entire forest was holding its breath.

Then the boar charged at the king.

At first, it ran directly at the king, gaining speed as its hooves pounded the grassy earth. But at the last moment, the beast swerved. It bypassed the spear entirely, and brushed past Cailan close enough to knock him off his feet.

Cailan landed on his arse, and the spear flew from his grasp.

The boar spun around, preparing to attack the king, who lay defenseless on the ground.

"Over here. Over here, damn you!" Teagan bellowed, stomping his foot to get the beast's attention.

The shouting had the desired effect. The boar turned toward Teagan and pawed at the ground.

Oh, Maker. Teagan's sword was no match for this creature. Even if he was lucky enough to stab the beast with his blade, it would surely just continue its charge, and running right up the sword and goring Teagan with its tusks in spite of being skewered.

As the beast lowered its head, Rhianna ran to the center of the clearing, putting herself between Teagan and the boar. When it began to charge, she dropped all the barriers she had put up around her mind.

"Stop! STOP!" She screamed, with her vocal chords as well as her mind.

The boar twitched violently, shaking its head. It pawed the ground, then a shudder ran through its body, and it stopped its charge.

_Thank you, Andraste. Thank you._ It wasn't going to attack. Teagan was safe.

On the other side of the clearing, Cailan got to his feet, and picked up the spear. He took a step closer, preparing to attack the boar, which had its back to the king and would never even see the blow coming.

"No!" Rhianna shouted. "Cailan, stop!"

She hurled herself at the boar, putting her arms around its neck, wanting her own body between the animal and Cailan's spear.

For a moment, there was utter silence, Cailan's eyes wide and surprised.

"No," Rhianna repeated.

"What are you doing?" Cailan asked. "I had a perfect opportunity to attack."

"No." Rhianna's breath came fast now, more from the excitement of what had happened rather than the brief physical exertion. "He only stopped charging at Bann Teagan because I asked him to. You can't kill him like this, not with his back to you. Not after I convinced him to stop. That's not a fair fight."

Loghain walked up beside Rhianna. He remained silent but it was clear he was ready to support her if the king argued.

Cailan's brow furrowed, but then he nodded. "As you wish."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Rhianna released the boar, and it fled the clearing, disappearing into the brush.

"I don't understand." Cailan stepped forward, offering Rhianna a hand and helping her up to her feet. "What just happened? You ran in front of it, and it stopped, but I don't understand why. Why didn't it charge you? You could have been killed."

Damn. There was no way to explain this without telling the king the truth. She glanced at Loghain. His eyes narrowed, but then he nodded at her.

"I . . ." she began. "I . . . well, I have this thing I can do. With animals. They listen to me, when I talk to them."

"They do what?" Cailan took a step closer. "What do you mean they listen?"

"Just that. They hear me, almost as though I were talking to them. I don't know how or why. It's just something I've always been able to do. When I saw the boar about to charge at Bann Teagan, and him with nothing but a sword, I . . . well, I asked the boar to stop. And it did. Which is why it didn't seem fair to attack it afterwards. Not when it only stopped charging because I intervened."

"You asked the thing not to attack?" Cailan just stared at her for a moment.

"Yes, well, I had to shout, really. He was quite agitated. But basically, yes."

A smile broke across his face. "That's amazing. I have never heard of such a thing before! It's absolutely wonderful!" He paused. "Can you talk to all animals? Could you talk to my hound?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I can talk to your hound. And my hound, and the boars and the deer in the forest, and the foxes in the palace garden. All of them."

"But if animals will do as you ask, couldn't you just call the game right to us? That would make hunting a lot easier."

"I am capable of that, but I wouldn't ever do it. It just seems like that would be . . . cheating. The animals are friendly to me, and I prefer to be friendly in return, if you know what I mean."

"Oh," Cailan said, a slight crease forming across his brow. "I suppose that's understandable."

Bann Teagan came up beside her and grasped her upper arm. "Thank you, Lady Cousland. I think it's quite likely you just saved my life, and I am very grateful. And I certainly don't begrudge the boar its life, not after all that."

"You're more than welcome."

"Yes," Cailan agreed. "You have the gratitude of the Crown, as well."

There was something in Cailan's voice that made Rhianna uncomfortable. A spark of excitement, something almost gleeful, as though he was enjoying this rather a lot.

"Your Majesty," she began. "I would rather this – this ability of mine - I would rather it not become common knowledge. I've worked hard over the years to keep quiet about it. There are a few people who know, but on the whole I would prefer it to be kept a secret."

"Who else knows?" Cailan asked.

"My parents and my brother, Loghain, and the queen."

"Anora? Anora knows about this? How long as she known?"

"For a couple of years."

"Hmph! And to think, she never said a word." The king turned to Loghain. "And you, Loghain? How long have you known?"

"Since Rhianna was eight years old."

"Indeed?" Cailan frowned slightly.

"You will help me keep it a secret, won't you?" Rhianna asked.

After a moment of hesitation, Cailan let his spear drop to the ground, so he could grasp her shoulders. "Of course, Rhianna. Of course I will keep your secret. And we'll swear Teagan to secrecy as well." He glanced at Teagan. "You'll keep quiet about this?"

"Of course," Teagan agreed immediately.

Rhianna released the breath she had been holding. "Thank you."

"Can you . . . can you do it again?" Cailan's eyes were bright. "Right now? Call an animal to visit with us?"

Rhianna glanced at Loghain. She didn't want her gift to become some sort of party trick, performed for the amusement of others. Still, Cailan was the king. Perhaps a small demonstration would be a good thing, and she could make it clear later she didn't intend to do this on command in the future.

"All right . . . but you've got to promise not to harm the creature in any way."

"Of course. I promise."

Rhianna looked at the forest around her. There weren't likely to be many animals in the vicinity now, after the commotion with the hog, but she reached out with her mind anyway. After a moment, she found something small and warm, curled up in a cavity in a nearby tree. She greeted it, and invited it to come down and visit for a moment.

"Look over there." She pointed at the tree, and a moment later a small face popped up and peered out of the hole. After staring at the people assembled, the grey squirrel emerged from the hole, scampering down the tree and crossing the clearing to Rhianna's feet.

Cailan laughed happily, as Rhianna knelt and offered her hand to the squirrel. The creature sniffed at her hand, and then climbed her arm to sniff at her face. She giggled softly as the animal's whiskers tickled her cheek.

"Maker's Breath," Cailan murmured. He had a rather awestruck expression, as did Bann Teagan. "Do you think," Cailan asked shyly, "I could hold him, as well?"

"Yes. Remove one of your gauntlets," she instructed. When he had done so, she stepped close and moved her arm next to his so the squirrel could step across. The squirrel climbed up the king's arm - more cautiously than it had done with the girl - and sniffed at his face.

Cailan laughed, and the squirrel, startled, jumped back into Rhianna's arms. Rhianna laughed, as well, and carried the squirrel back to its tree. She regretted not having any sort of treat to give it, but it seemed happy enough with a kiss on its head.

Rhianna turned to find all three men staring at her.

"That," Cailan announced, "was the most incredible thing I have ever seen. Is it some sort of magic?"

Loghain answered before Rhianna could speak. "No. Nothing like that. It's just something she can do, like people who are able to call animals to fight beside them."

"Oh yes," Cailan agreed. "I've heard of that. I seem to recall knowing an elf once who could do that. It might have even been one of your Night Elves, Loghain."

Rhianna was eager now to get moving, and for the topic of conversation to shift to something - or someone - else. "I believe the boar have all gone from this area now, Your Majesty. But if you still want to try and find one, we can look elsewhere. Or hunt a different quarry? My hawk is around here somewhere, and she'd be more than happy for you to fly her, if you like."

"Please, my lady, call me Cailan. And I shall call you Rhianna, if you don't mind."

Rhianna bit her lip. "All right, Your Maj . . . I mean, Cailan."

"And I should very much like to fly this hawk of yours. What does she like to hunt?"

"Waterfowl, mostly. I'm sure she can take down as many ducks as you like, perhaps even a goose or two."

Cailan nodded, and seemed well satisfied by this suggestion. He made his way in the direction of the horses, and Teagan followed. Rhianna and Loghain lingered in the clearing until the two men were out of earshot.

Rhianna stepped close to Loghain and put her hands on his shoulders. He grasped her gently at the waist, and looked directly into her eyes.

"Are you all right?"

She let out a breath. "Yes, I'm fine. That was a bit . . . unexpected, though. I really thought the boar was going to kill Bann Teagan."

"I think it would have, had you not intervened."

"You don't think the king will make a big deal of this, do you? I don't . . . well, I really don't want all of Denerim to find out."

"Cailan does get enthusiastic about things and he's not always good about holding his tongue. However, he also likes knowing secrets. I suggest we remind him one more time, before returning to the city, that this is meant to be a secret - a very special secret. I think he'll keep quiet about it. Especially since he can speak of it with Anora, since she already knows." He paused. "And I have no doubt Bann Teagan will honor your request. He's a good man."

Rhianna nodded, and then lifted her face to kiss Loghain lightly on the lips. He pulled her closer, and gave her another longer, proper kiss. Afterwards, they turned and followed the path back to the king and Bann Teagan.

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As always, my gratitude goes out to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum. And thanks as well to my lovely reviewers: Dragonmactir, Persephonechiara, Arsinoe de Blassenville, KrystylSky, Serena R. Snape, Tyrannosaurustex, SwomeeSwan, Milly-finalfantasy, and DjinniGenie.

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	59. All my fond heart would say

_**9 August, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**The Bannorn**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

The morning was beautiful and sunny when Loghain and Rhianna left Denerim, and rode west into the Bannorn. Dane ran ahead of the horses while Gwyn played in the air currents high above their heads. They had gotten an early start, stopped briefly in the town of Hafter, and then made for their ultimate destination: Teyrn's Peak.

Unlike Dragon's Peak, which had been covered with trees and studded with boulders, Teyrn's Peak was mostly barren rock, but no less beautiful for its austerity. From a distance, the mountain looked rusty red, but as they drew closer, Loghain could see a multitude of colors laid out in ribboned striations of all the different types of rock from which the mountain had been formed. Compact grey-leafed shrubs grew in tangled knots from the few places they could gain a foothold in crevices between the rocks.

They'd followed a well-worn path; it took them less than an hour to climb the peak, and the view from the top was stunning. Of course, Rhianna had immediately run to the far side of the plateau, eager to look at the landscape below. As Loghain followed, she glanced back at him, and her smile made his heart ache. She was so lovely and so generous. So trusting.

And she loved him. She hadn't said as much, and neither had he, but over the past few days he had come to believe it was true. It still came as a surprise sometimes, this new fire that blazed between them, although perhaps it shouldn't have. They had been close for so many years; he might have expected that friendship to shift, and blossom into something deeper and all-encompassing. But it still took his breath away to think of it. She took his breath away. He didn't deserve her, but here she was anyway. And he was determined to make her happy, if it took everything he had to give.

When he caught up to her, and stood beside her, she took his hand. "It's so lovely from up here!" She pointed to a tiny smudge on the horizon, her voice bright. "Look, there's Denerim." She turned to look northwest. "And the Tarcaisne Ridge, with the Coastlands beyond. And the Bannorn."

The view was lovely, but Loghain was distracted by Rhianna herself, and after only a brief glance at the scenery, he found himself unable to look away from her face, the way her hair framed her profile, the pleasing line of her jaw.

She peered up at him, and frowned. "You aren't even looking at the view, are you? Don't tell me it's not beautiful up here."

"It is beautiful. In fact, the view from where I'm standing is perfect." He pulled her close and kissed her, and for a few minutes all thoughts of the past and future left his mind.

After a while, they settled themselves down and laid out their lunch near a ledge facing the mountain range to the north.

"Has your father said anything about when he plans on returning to Highever?"

"Yes. Well, not about returning to Highever, but he seems anxious to be away from Denerim. He's planning to leave tomorrow for Amaranthine with Arl Howe. They have some business together, but I don't know what it is."

"Are you going with him?"

"No. Hobbes and I will go to Highever sometime later in the week. I'm not in any particular hurry, and Father didn't seem to care if I stayed longer." She glanced at Loghain. "I'm trying not to dread going home. These past weeks with you have been . . . well, amazing." She smiled shyly, and then looked away. "I don't really want to think about going back home."

"You don't miss Highever?"

"I haven't been away long enough yet to miss it. I'm sure I would, eventually. But going back now, I'd miss you more."

"I'd miss you, too, Rhianna." He paused. "Which is why I was thinking . . . I should speak to your father."

She blinked up at him. "My father?"

"Yes. To ask him for your hand." He paused to gulp down a breath. "In marriage. If that would be agreeable to you?"

Her eyes grew wide as she drew in a sharp breath. "Oh, Loghain," she murmured. "Yes." She nodded vigorously. "Yes. That would be more than agreeable." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening her eyes again, she asked, "You want to . . . marry me?"

He still had doubts, and fears for the future, but she had made it clear that she wanted him. And Maker knows, he wanted her.

"Yes." He took one of her hands. "Rhianna Cousland, I want very much for you to become my wife."

She smiled, and a burst of laughter pealed from her before she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "Oh, Loghain. Nothing in this world would make me happier!"

Dane barked excitedly, his eyes shining. Clearly, he was pleased by this development. Of course, he had anticipated this for quite some time; it was only his humans who had been so slow to decide.

She pulled away. "Will you speak to my father tonight? When we return to Denerim?"

"Yes, that's my intention."

Rhianna closed her eyes again and then happy laughter erupted from her again. "I was so afraid you wouldn't ask, not before father left town, or made some other arrangement for me. I've been so terrified he would want me to marry someone else, someone I didn't want to marry. Which, of course, meant anyone other than you. It's always been you I've wanted to marry. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I suppose I do."

She leaned over and kissed him, but then pulled away as the smile slipped from her face. "You are certain about this? Not just for my sake, but for your own sake as well?" She looked so very young, her eyes pleading with him. "You really want to marry me?"

The smile slid from his face as he considered the woman in front of him.

He had known her most of her life, knew her better than he had ever known any other person. And he wanted all the things he had with her, and more. Her friendship, her laughter, her good humor and her wit. He wanted her company, and the way she always seemed to know what he was feeling without him having to say. And now, he also wanted to hold her close, to kiss her, to do so much more with her. There was something powerful between the two of them, and he had come to believe Maric was right: they belonged together.

"Yes, Rhianna." He cupped her face in his hand. "I really want to marry you."

She embraced him again, slowly this time, wrapping her arms around his waist and curling herself up against him. As he surrendered himself to her, and cradled her in his arms, he let out the breath he had been holding.

It was done. There was no taking it back now. Not that he wanted to take it back. He wanted her. And he hoped he was doing the right thing, for both of their sakes. This was what she wanted, and he wanted it, too. Perhaps that made him irredeemably selfish, his willingness to claim this beautiful young woman for himself. But feeling her body against his, the warmth of her breath against his neck, remembering the light in her eyes when she had said "yes," he didn't want to take it back.

_Please, Andraste. Let me always be worthy of her, and always find ways of making her happy._

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Rhianna and Loghain spent several hours on top of the mountain, alternately talking and kissing and sipping from the skin of wine they'd brought with them. To Rhianna, it seemed the sun shone more brightly, in a warmer hue, and the blue of the sky was more intense, more beautiful than ever before. The gentle breeze felt delightful as it rippled through her hair, and all her senses tingled with pleasure. Surely, this was the most perfect day of all the days of her life.

Loghain wanted to marry her.

It felt like she'd waited a lifetime for this, and now it was here, and it was real. Loghain was going to ask her father for her hand, tonight, and soon they would be married. They would be married, and spend the rest of their lives together.

Loghain wanted to marry her.

The thought made her happy. So happy, she could barely think about it for fear she might burst out laughing, or crying, or possibly just die from the happiness of it.

She leaned over and kissed him, and something fluttered in her chest, something expansive and bright, something that wanted to burst from her and fly free. Love. This was what it felt like to be in love, so genuinely in love that nothing would ever be the same for either of them, not ever again.

His hands were gentle, his palms slipping across her back, coming to rest at her waist as they kissed. She felt a thrill at the feel of his muscles beneath her own hands: his strong arms, the broad expanse of his chest. There was so much she wanted from him, so many feelings building up inside, and a part of her wanted to surrender. To give herself to him, completely. To make love to him right now, right here on top of the mountain.

But still, she was frightened by the thought of where their physical relationship would lead next. She didn't know what to expect. She pulled away and looked into his eyes, searching for something, although she didn't know quite what. His eyes were warm and clear and he lifted a brow slightly at her scrutiny.

Could he tell what she was thinking? It seemed impossible that he didn't know how much she wanted him, how deeply she loved him. How she had never felt as safe with anyone else as she felt with him.

But the thought of it was still vaguely overwhelming. She moved close and pressed her lips against his for a long moment, then moved away.

"Will you tell me about Gwaren?"

He cocked his head at her, and then a half-smile crept across his face.

"What do you want to know?"

"What's it like there? The weather? The sea? Do you have different birds and things than we have in Highever? I remember you saying your sea lions were different."

"Yes, the sea lions are different, and some of the birds as well. Have you ever seen a puffin?"

"A puffin? No, I don't think so. What do they look like?"

"They're black and white, except for the bill. They have huge, rounded bills, striped orange and red and black. They remind me of masked mummers at a festival."

He leaned back on his elbows, and looked out over the valley below. "And the coastline is different. More rugged, much wilder than the Coastlands. We don't have miles and miles of beaches with soft sand, but instead there are cliffs that plunge hundreds of feet down to rocks that are continually pounded by the waves. There are little patches of beach here and there, but the sand is coarse with broken rocks and shells in all different colors.

"The ocean is different as well. Darker and deeper, steel blue and grey and far too cold for swimming, even in the summer, except by those few willing to brave not only the cold but the tides that can pull you under in a moment. But the sea is beautiful near Gwaren, and standing at the top of the cliffs, with the waves crashing below and the cries of seabirds on the wind, it's like standing at the very edge of the world. As far as I know, it truly is the edge of the world."

"And what about the forest?"

"The forest is lush and green, darker and denser than anything you'll have seen before, with evergreens twice as tall as those here in the north. The wolves have thicker fur, and the bears are bulky and massive. They have to be, to withstand the winters."

"Is it really that much colder there?"

"Sometimes yes, sometimes no. There's snow most of the winter, and the wind can bite. But sometimes a warm current comes from the sea, and it can be mild in Gwaren proper, even if everything is a frozen wasteland just a few leagues inland."

He turned back to her. "I think you'll love Gwaren. It's beautiful, and wild, and just a bit dangerous. And I have no doubt the people will love you from the moment they set eyes on you."

"Then you intend we will live there much of the time? Rather than in Denerim?"

His forehead creased. "I . . . yes, I had thought we would make our home in Gwaren. Unless you would prefer to live in Denerim?"

She chuckled. "Oh, no. I like Denerim well enough for a few weeks here and there, but I've never wanted to live there. Not all the time." She hesitated. "I prefer the idea of living in Gwaren. It sounds wonderful, and I should think we'll have more time to . . . ourselves there than we ever would in the city."

"Yes. We will."

Was he thinking the same thoughts? Thoughts of their bodies pressed together, their mouths and hands hungry for one another. Her cheeks grew hot, and she looked away, hoping very much he couldn't guess at her thoughts.

"Unless you have more questions about Gwaren," he began, "Perhaps you'll do me a favor now?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "What sort of favor?"

"Sing something for me."

Oh. That was a wonderful idea. A song would distract her from thoughts she wasn't quite ready to face.

"Of course. I'd be happy to sing for you." And with only a brief moment of thought, she knew exactly the song she wanted to sing.

_Dear thoughts are in my mind,  
__And my soul soars elated  
__As I hear the sweet lark sing  
__In the clear air of the day__  
_

_For a tender, beaming smile  
__To my hope has been granted  
__And tomorrow she shall hear  
__All my fond heart would say__  
_

_I shall tell her all my love  
__All my soul's adoration  
__And I think she will hear me  
__And will not say me nay__  
_

_It is this that gives my soul  
__All its joyous elation  
__As I hear the sweet lark sing  
__In the clear air of the day*__  
_

‹›‹O›‹›

As the day passed, they watched the Tarcaisne Ridge change colors with the movement of the sun, watched the greens and browns shift and become warmer and brighter, until the sun passed its zenith and began its descent to the west.

"Let's pack up," Loghain suggested, "and head back to Denerim. I'd like to arrive well before dark."

For once, Rhianna didn't mind that they might arrive back earlier than was strictly necessary, if it meant they could find her father and Loghain could speak with him.

To ask for her hand.

Before heading down the mountain, Rhianna stood as far out on the plateau as she could go without worrying the ledge might crumble beneath her, and took a final look at the landscape stretched out below.

Loghain followed, and put his arms around her waist. She leaned back against him and turned her gaze to the west, out across the fertile plans of the Bannorn.

In the distance, something caught her attention. A smudge on the horizon that looked . . . wrong, somehow.

"Loghain? What's that?" She pointed to a spot down in the valley.

"Hmnh. It looks like smoke, but it's early in the season for farmers to burn the stubble from their fields." He retrieved a spyglass from his pack. He looked through the lens, and a soft grunt came from his throat. He handed the spyglass to Rhianna.

"Maker," she breathed. "That's a farm hold burning? Not just the fields, but the house or the barn?"

"Yes. It looks that way to me."

"We should ride out and see if the family needs any assistance."

‹›‹O›‹›

The smoke was indeed coming from a farm hold. When Rhianna and Loghain arrived, the barn and grain silo stood unharmed, but the house was nothing more than a smoking ruin. Baled hay dotted a swath of the nearby fields, but at least half the wheat still stood tall on its stalks, unharvested.

They dismounted and left the horses near the stone well in what had been a small courtyard in front of the house, and strapped on their weapons before surveying the damage. There was an eerie quiet along with the layer of smoke that hung in the air and made it difficult to see any great distance.

"Maker's blood," Rhianna murmured. "What happened here? Where is everyone?" They hadn't seen a single soul on the road as they traveled here from Teyrn's Peak, and no one was in sight now. Had the family been trapped inside? It didn't appear that there had been any attempt to fight the fire, so perhaps the family were away for the day, for a wedding or funeral, and didn't even know their home had been destroyed.

"I don't know," Loghain replied. "Let's have a look around." With the tip of his boot, he poked at the charred remains of what had once been a farmhouse. The walls and roof had completely collapsed, and there was nothing that looked like a body in the wreckage, but there was so much debris it was possible people were buried inside.

Loghain headed around the northern side of the house, and Rhianna and Dane wandered south, in the direction of the barn. As she neared the wooden structure, something caught her eye. Something lay in the doorway . . .

Maker's blood! There was a man, face down on the ground. He made no movement at all, and his clothes were torn and bloody. Rhianna knelt beside him, intending to feel for breath, or a pulse.

"Rhianna, no!" Loghain's voice rang out across the yard. "Don't touch him!"

Startled, she drew her hand back as Loghain ran up behind her and pulled her away. He dropped to his knees, and examined her hands, turning them over once, and then again, as if looking for something.

"Did you touch him?"

"No. I'd only just found him. Loghain, what it is? What's wrong? Do you think there's some sort of disease here?"

"Perhaps."

"If it's the plague, you don't have to worry about me. I've had it, remember?"

"It's not plague." He released her hands. "I think it's something . . . worse."

Something in his eyes, and the darkness in his voice, sent a cool trickle of fear down her spine. "What could be worse than plague?"

"Perhaps I'm wrong. Let's hope I'm wrong. Just . . . stay close to me, all right?"

Pushing himself to his feet, he entered the barn. He retrieved a hoe from its hook on wall, then used it to roll the man onto his back.

A foul odor filled the air, and Rhianna gasped at the sight of his face. There was no doubt the man was dead. A huge, bloody gash split open his face, and his eyes were open, staring at nothing. At the edges of the bloody wound, the skin was curled and blackened, and thin, dark tendrils crept across the leathery skin of his face.

"What is that?" Rhianna asked. "Was he burnt in the fire?"

"No, I don't think so. I think . . . well, I found a similar patch in the grass behind the house. I've only seen something like this once before."

"Where?"

"In the Deep Roads."

"The Deep Roads? Is it something to do with the spiders?" The fear grew colder. "Or darkspawn?"

He let out a solemn breath. "I can't be certain that's what this is; all that happened a very long time ago. But this does look similar to what I remember. A corruption that spread on the walls and the floor in many parts of the Deep Roads, caused by the taint the darkspawn carry. Which is why you mustn't touch it. You mustn't touch him, or anything else in this place. People die from blight sickness."

"But darkspawn . . . how is that possible?" She shuddered. "I thought darkspawn don't come to the surface. Not unless there's a blight."

"I don't know. And perhaps I'm wrong, and this is nothing to do with them. Let's hope I'm wrong, and it's some strange fungus or rot."

"But something attacked this man," she insisted. "The wound on his face wasn't caused by some sort of fungus." She looked around. "Should we check inside the barn, and in the woods nearby? For survivors?"

"Yes. And burn this body, along with any others we find."

The sun crept lower in the sky; they only had a couple of hours at most before night fell. There was no way they'd make it back to Denerim before dark. Rhianna turned, thinking to return to her pack for a parchment and quill.

"I should send a message to my father, telling him we're going to be late getting ba-"

She stopped, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the sun's glare as she squinted at something atop a gentle hill that rose to the west of the farm hold.

"Loghain, look. There's someone at the top of the hill. Do you think it's one of the farmers?"

Silhouetted by the setting sun stood a lone figure. A man, or so it appeared, wearing armor but no helmet, although Rhianna couldn't make out his features. He held a sword in one hand, and what looked like a club or a mace in the other.

"I don't think that's a farmer," Loghain replied.

As they watched, two more figures appeared. Both were shorter than the first man, but broader, also armored and carrying weapons. Loghain drew his sword, but when Rhianna reached for her own weapons, he put a hand on her arm to stop her.

"No. Not your sword. Get your bow. And whatever you do, don't let these things get anywhere near you. Don't touch them, and don't let them touch you. And keep Dane away as well. Do you understand?"

The ice cold fear that had been merely a trickle swelled and washed over her.

"I understand."

She turned and ran toward the horses.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

When Rhianna crossed the courtyard, Loghain followed, walking backward so as to keep his eyes on the figures atop the hill. As soon as he'd seen them, even with the sun behind them, he knew what they were. No matter how many years had passed since then, he'd seen too many of them in the Deep Roads not to remember the shape of their bodies, the slightly stooped posture, the width of their armored shoulders.

Darkspawn. Dread crept up his spine. It seemed impossible that darkspawn would be here, now, but what else could they be?

They began to descend from the top. Three . . . no, five . . . now seven . . .

Ten altogether, striding quickly down the hill toward the farm.

Maker's blood.

They drew closer, and as the sun was no longer in Loghain's eyes, his fear was confirmed. Hurlocks and the shorter genlocks, if he remembered correctly what the creatures were called. The dwarves in the Deep Roads had said something about the tall ones being born from humans and the shorter ones from dwarves, but it hadn't made much sense at the time.

Right now, none of that mattered. He needed to kill them, and get Rhianna out of here before any of them got near her.

When Loghain was about fifty feet from the horses, the tallest of the hurlocks raised his sword and slashed downward through the air, signaling a charge. Loghain stopped his retreat. He'd fight them here, well away from Rhianna and the horses.

An arrow whizzed a few feet from his head, striking one of the taller creatures in the neck. Apparently, Rhianna had retrieved her bow. The hurlock dropped. While it was good to have one less opponent, the creature's death agitated its fellows. They began calling out in something Loghain wasn't sure was even a language, and increased the speed of their approach.

Another arrow sailed past; this time, a genlock was hit in the shoulder. Other than being knocked back half a step, however, the creature seemed undaunted.

The first attackers - a hurlock and two genlocks - were nearly within striking distance. Loghain crouched low, aware of his lack of armor. As soon as the thought entered his mind, he forced himself to release it, and all other thoughts, as he allowed his body to take over and fight.

"For Maric and the Maker!" he bellowed.

The darkspawn stopped in their tracks. Loghain slashed with his sword and decapitated one of the genlocks, then spun to drive his blade into the belly of another. Another arrow flew past, and another genlock dropped to the ground.

Loghain slashed low with his sword, taking the legs out from under a genlock, as another further back fell to Rhianna's arrow. Now, only four darkspawn remained, but they pressed him uncomfortably. It was all he could do to keep himself out of the way of the creatures' attacks. He was now between Rhianna and their attackers as well, making it unlikely she would give any more assistance.

He swung and dodged and parried their blows with his sword, but was losing ground. They drove him back; he wanted desperately to keep them away from Rhianna, but could not hold them off entirely.

He blocked a sword strike, and realized too late he was vulnerable to an attack from the left. One of the creatures held a dark metal axe, its blade pitted and nicked, above its head, poised to strike.

In a blur of teeth and fur, Dane leapt past Loghain, knocking the hurlock onto the ground.

"No!" Loghain shouted.

The hound sank his teeth into the creature's neck.

"Dane, get back" Loghain parried a strike from a genlock just before it fell to another of Rhianna's arrows. She had circled around for a clear view of the darkspawn, and he was grateful.

Only two hurlocks remained. Loghain bellowed and charged at one of them. It parried his first blow, but Loghain pushed through the charge. He easily overwhelmed the creature, and brought his sword down. As the creature's severed head fell to the ground, Loghain spun to attack the final hurlock. An arrow in the creature's shoulder kept it from swinging its axe, and Loghain easily finished it off with a slash across its throat.

Loghain glanced around. Mercifully, no more of the creatures had appeared.

Rhianna jogged across the yard, moving as though she intended to kneel beside Dane, whose muzzle was stained with dark blood.

"No!" Loghain shouted. He was about to reach for her, to pull her back, when he remembered he, too, was covered in darkspawn blood. He couldn't risk getting any on her skin. Not even a drop.

Maric had been convinced the taint was what killed Rowan.

Rhianna turned to him, and her eyes grew wide.

"Blessed Andraste, you're covered in their blood. And Dane bit one of them. The blight sickness . . . can he catch it from biting one of them? Can you catch it?" Rhianna's voice trembled, higher-pitched than usual. Loghain was only barely pushing back his own panic.

"I don't know."

Were dogs susceptible to the taint? Probably. Some of the spiders in the Deep Roads had seemed corrupted by something, presumably the darkspawn taint. As for himself . . . he'd been exposed to this level of darkspawn blood in the past with no ill effect. Whether that meant he had some immunity, or had merely been lucky, was impossible to say.

"I don't know, Rhianna," he repeated. "But Dane and I should wash this blood away as soon as possible."

Using water from the well, Loghain washed himself and Dane. Fortunately, after the joke she made the day they climbed Dragon's Peak, Loghain had brought a change of clothes, in case of a rainstorm or random excursion into a body of water. Now, Rhianna retrieved them from his saddlebag, and he stripped off his bloody clothes, leaving them in a pile to be burned along with the dead man, as well as all these darkspawn corpses.

Within a very few minutes, the dog and the man were clean again, and the three of examined the fallen darkspawn, careful not to touch them except with the toe of a boot.

"Maker's balls," Rhianna swore, her face twisted into a grimace. "They're disgusting. From a distance they looked human, at least the tall ones did. But now? Up close? I've never seen anything so horrible in all my life."

She was right. They were disgusting, and clearly anything but human. Both hurlocks and genlocks were hairless, with skin the color of rotting meat, and a stench to match. Their teeth were long and pointed, and their hands disturbingly large. Their armor and weapons were of poor quality, rough and rusty, made out of a metal Loghain could not easily identify, similar to what he remembered from the creatures he had fought all those years ago in the Deep Roads.

"What were they doing here?" Rhianna asked.

"I don't know. A raid, I suppose." Surely, this must be just some chance occurrence. Not a blight. Not in Ferelden. There had never been a blight in Ferelden before, and the thought of one happening now was too awful to consider.

Rhianna glanced around, scanning the nearby hills. "Do you think there are more of them?"

"I hope not," Loghain replied. "But we should get on the horses and have a look around. See if we can figure out where they came from. And be prepared to ride away quickly if necessary."

As they moved toward the horses, Dane began to cough. It was a harsh sound, as though something were caught in his throat. Then his body began to shake, and his front legs buckled beneath him, forcing him to the ground. He landed onto his side, and his eyes rolled up into his head, showing nothing but white. His feet began to kick frantically, as though chasing something in a dream.

"Loghain!" Rhianna dropped to her knees beside the hound. "Oh, Blessed Andraste, what's wrong? What's happening to him?"

As Rhianna reached for him, Dane went limp, and lay completely still on the ground.

"No!" Rhianna cradled the dog's head, pulling it into her lap. "Oh, Maker, no!" She looked up at Loghain, her eyes wild and bright. "Help him, please! We've got to do something, Please!"

Maker knew Loghain would do anything to save Dane's life, if only he had the first idea what that would be. The hound had no visible injuries, so what good would a poultice do? He had no other sort of healing magic, and it seemed unlikely there was a healer anywhere within miles of this isolated farm house.

And it might already be too late; it honestly looked as though the dog were already dead.

Rhianna must have had the same thought. "Oh Dane," she sobbed close to his ear. "Please Dane, don't leave me. You can't leave me. Please. Please don't leave me. Please."

Loghain knelt beside her, intending to lean down and feel for breath from Dane's mouth. He put a hand on the hound's flank.

Beneath his hand, Dane wasn't entirely still.

"He's still breathing."

It wasn't too late. Blessed Andraste, there had to be something that could help.

Water. Maybe water would help. It seemed unlikely, but what else was there?

Loghain got to his feet, and retrieved the bucket. From his cupped hands, he poured cool liquid past the dog's open lips.

No change.

Tears streamed down Rhianna's face as she sat with Dane's head in her lap. She turned the dog's head slightly, to help Loghain aim the water into his mouth.

Loghain gave the hound another drink, and then another, and then, amazingly, Dane's breathing grew stronger. His eyes remained closed, but some of the tension returned to his muscles. He no longer looked dead, but as though he was merely sleeping.

Rhianna leaned her face close to Dane's, as though she wanted to feel his breath against her cheek.

"He _is_ breathing. Thank the Maker, I thought he was . . ." her voice trailed off, as she wrapped her arms tightly around the dog.

Dane shuddered, a movement that began at his nose, and went through his body in a wave all the way down to his tail, and then his eyes opened. He whimpered, and Rhianna stroked his head. With what looked like a great effort, he pushed himself shakily to his feet, and Rhianna helped him stand. Again, the hound shook himself from head to toe, and then panted through his open mouth, appearing almost to smile at his mistress.

Rhianna's face lit up with joy and relief. "You scared me, Dane. Don't ever do that again!"

He whined in response, and Rhianna threw her arms around his neck.

After a moment, Loghain touched her shoulder. When she looked up, he offered her a hand, encouraging her to stand. The sun was dropping lower by the minute.

"Let's just make sure no one else is hiding in the barn, or in the woods nearby, and get away from this place before the sun sets." If there were more darkspawn about, they certainly didn't want to encounter them at night.

They found no one in the barn. Behind the house, however, Dane caught the scent of at least two people, as well as darkspawn. Together, the three companions followed the trail into the woods, but before long it became too dark for them to continue the search.

"We need to go back," Loghain said.

"But what if those people are still out here, alive? They might not survive the night!"

"It's getting dark, and far too dangerous out here. And I fear there's not much chance of anyone else being alive. As far as I know, darkspawn don't take prisoners."

"Why would they take people away, then? If they're just going to kill them? Why not leave them here?"

"I think . . ." he paused again. "I think they might take people away to use for food."

Rhianna's brow wrinkled in confusion, and then her eyes grew wide as she realized what he meant. "Oh," she said in a small voice. She glanced around. "That's . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, as if to clear it from unpleasant thoughts.

"Let's go," he insisted.

By the time they made it back to the farmhold, the sun was merely a sliver of orange halfway past the horizon. The dead darkspawn needed to be burned, and a pyre built for the farmer, but they could return to do those things in the morning. It wasn't likely anyone would stumble along during the night and touch the bodies, although wild animals might scavenge from the corpses. Then again, judging by the smell, that seemed unlikely as well.

"There's no way we're going to make it back to Denerim tonight," Rhianna said. "I'll send Gwyn to my Father with a note, letting him know we'll be back tomorrow. I'll just say we saw a farmhouse burning from the top of Teyrn's Peak, and went to see if the family needed any help. I won't mention the darkspawn. That seems like news best delivered in person."

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*"Lark in the Clear Air" features lyrics written by Sir Samuel Ferguson in the 1850s, but the tune itself is much older. It seemed more than appropriate for this occasion. I am in the process of recording my own version of the song, which will soon be available at the Dragon Age Songs link on my profile. There is also artwork that accompanies this chapter, an illustration of Rhianna and Loghain at the top of Teyrn's Peak. This can be found via the Extras link on my profile.

A huge thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to my lovely reviewers: KatDancer2, Serena R. Snape, Milly-finalfantasy, KrystylSky, Tyrannosaurustex, DjinniGenie, SwomeeSwan, GLCW2, Graydevilforever, Dragonmactir, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and Skidney.

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	60. For love and good luck

_**9 August, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**The Bannorn**__**  
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Rhianna and Loghain rode south from the ruined farmhold, to an inn Loghain remembered as being closer than the town of Hafter. It was fully dark by the time they arrived, but fortunately the innkeeper had a room vacant where they could spend the night. After arranging for hot water to be brought to the room for a bath, Loghain and Rhianna took seats at the bar in the common room, while Dane ambled over to stretch himself out on the floor in front of the hearth.

"What can I get for you?" The barkeep gave them a wide, genuine smile. "Something to drink? Food? We've meat pies tonight if you're hungry."

"Both would be good," Loghain replied. "A pie for each of us, including one for the hound." He turned to Rhianna. Her face was pale, and he could feel her trembling slightly at his side. "What would you like to drink?"

She hesitated only a moment. "Whiskey."

"I'll have the same," Loghain said. The barkeep instructed the serving woman to bring the pies, and then he took two glasses from under the counter, and poured two fingers in each.

Rhianna picked up her glass, and threw back the amber liquid in one swallow. Her eyes watered and she shuddered slightly, and then set the glass gently on the counter in front of the innkeeper.

"Another, please."

The man's brow creased, but he nodded and complied. This time, she took only a sip before setting it down again.

Loghain followed her example before addressing the innkeeper. "There's a farm about four miles north of here. Farmhouse, barn and silo, the buildings set down in a small valley. Do you know the family who farms that land?"

"Oh, aye," he replied. "That would be the Reynald Farm. Why do you ask?"

"We rode out there this afternoon to find the farmhouse burned to the ground."

"What's this?" An older man sitting diagonally across the bar spoke up. His ginger hair was peppered with grey, and he had a long, drooping mustache. "A fire at the Reynald farm? Was anyone hurt?"

"We found one man dead, and no sign of anyone else," Loghain replied. "How many people lived there?"

"Four." The innkeeper's smile had disappeared. "Percival and Gemma, along with their two daughters."

"There's a boy living out there as well," the man across the bar added. "A farmhand they took on a few months ago. Don't know his name, though."

"It was a grown man we found," Rhianna said, "so he must have been Percival. And just him. Although we couldn't search the wreckage of the house. It was still smoldering."

"Percival died in the fire?" the man at the bar asked.

"No." Loghain paused. There was no point in mentioning the darkspawn; talk like that could create a full-blown panic. "It looked like he'd been attacked by . . . wild animals, perhaps."

The innkeeper pulled up a stool behind the bar and took a seat. "You didn't find Gemma or the girls?"

"No," Rhianna replied. "We searched the barn, and a little ways into the woods, but we didn't find anyone else before it got too dark to keep looking."

"Perhaps they fled deeper into the woods," the innkeeper suggested.

"Why would they go into the woods because of a fire?" the ginger-haired man asked.

"If there was some sort of wild animal around, they might have," the innkeeper said sensibly. "And who knows what caused the fire. At any rate, I hope they turn up all right. They're a good family. It's a shame about Percival, though."

The serving girl appeared from the back room carrying plates with the pies they had ordered. "Do you want to eat here at the bar, or shall I put you at a table?"

"A table, please." Loghain picked up his whiskey glass and stood. It might be best not to continue the conversation with the locals for too much longer, lest they press for more details.

Rhianna downed the last of her whiskey and left the glass on the bar. "If I could get a glass of porter when you have a moment, I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, milady," the girl replied. Soon, Rhianna and Loghain were settled at a table near the fire. Dane joined them, having sniffed out the presence of the pies.

"So, we'll return to the farm in the morning?" Rhianna's voice was low; clearly she didn't want to be overheard.

"Yes, to burn the bodies if nothing else."

"Do you think there is any chance those people might still be alive?"

"Honestly? No." He took threw back the rest of his whiskey, and signaled for the barmaid to bring him another. "Darkspawn don't take prisoners, as far as I know."

The barmaid returned with a whiskey and a porter, and they got down to the business of eating their dinner. Dane polished off his pie in about three bites, and returned to the fire.

"You don't think this could be the start of a blight, do you?" Rhianna bit her lip. "Remember the Landsmeet? All those reports of people disappearing. Whole families gone from their homes, caravans full of goods abandoned in the middle of the highway? If we hadn't arrived when we did, and the darkspawn had left again, this might have looked just like one of those disappearances, except for the burnt down farmhouse. Maybe darkspawn are coming out all over Ferelden, but the only people who have seen them haven't lived long enough to tell the tale."

Her eyes were bright, and Loghain wanted to say something to soothe her fears, but in truth, he wondered the same thing.

"I suppose it's possible darkspawn are behind some of the disappearances. But," he reached across the table and took her hand, "if this were a blight there were be thousands - tens of thousands - of darkspawn coming to the surface. This is merely a few darkspawn here and there. I don't know their purpose, but I assure you this is no blight."

"Good." Her voice had a hard edge. "Because I hate them. They're terrifying and hideous and they smell foul and I thought they were going to kill you and I thought they had killed Dane. I hope I never see another one. Not even one. Not ever."

Rhianna finished her porter. "So, do you think Cailan will really allow Bann Nicola's guards to carry out some sort of purge of the Alienage?"

Clearly, an attempt to change the subject, and Loghain was happy to oblige her desire to speak of other things. They finished their pies and had a few more drinks, and the serving woman brought another pie for Dane, saying it would only go to waste otherwise, and much better for it to be enjoyed by such a handsome hound. Rhianna and Loghain spoke of anything but the encounter at the farm hold. Conditions in the Denerim Alienage. Whether dwarven amour really was superior to human-made, as the dwarves liked to claim. How much more prices would climb before the merchants' guild was forced to submit to new policies. And how was it Habren Bryland and Vaughan Kendalls weren't married yet, since clearly they were meant for one another, being horrible in about equal measure.

The chamber maid approached. "Begging your pardon sers, but the hot water has been brought in for your bath."

As Rhianna pushed herself up out of the chair, she stumbled, and grabbed at Loghain to steady herself. She blinked up at him, a crease forming along her brow.

"I think it's possible I've had a bit too much to drink."

"I suspect you have." She'd had two whiskeys in quick succession, as well as a glass of porter. Or was it two glasses? And possibly a third whiskey?

In truth, he was feeling the effects of the whiskey as well. He hadn't realized just how many times the barmaid had refilled his glass until he stood up, and found himself a bit off balance.

Arm in arm, they allowed the chamber maid to show them the location of their room.

"Why don't you bathe first," Loghain offered. "There's blood in my hair to wash out, so you should use the tub while the water is still clean."

She agreed, and he busied himself with removing his boots while she undressed and slipped into the tub.

"Ohh," she sighed appreciatively. He glanced over to see the back of her head, and just the tops of her knees poking above water's surface. "Maker's breath, this water feels delicious. Loghain, you need to get in the tub. If you wait until I'm done it won't be hot anymore."

"Is there room for both of us?"

She giggled. "Of course there's room." She glanced back at him. "Come get in the bath. Please?"

There was no reason not to agree. "All right."

He undressed, and when he approached the tub, Rhianna sat up without turning to look at him, her arms folded across her chest.

"How should we to do this?" she asked.

"You stay where you are, and I'll slide in behind you. Then, you can lean back against me."

He eased himself into the water, straddling her with his legs, and let out a deep sigh. She was right. The hot water did feel wonderful against his skin. When he sat back in the tub, and pulled her back against his chest, she felt wonderful against his skin, as well.

"I was right, wasn't I? About the water?" She turned her face up to give him an impish grin.

"Yes. You were right," he chuckled.

She relaxed against him, closing her eyes. Her arms slid down, no longer covering her chest, and for the first time, Loghain saw her fully unclothed.

Maker's breath, she was beautiful. Her legs were long and lithe, and her breasts floated pale above the surface, her dark nipples glistening from the water. He put a hand on her knee, and then slid it along the smooth, unblemished skin of her thigh.

She started to giggle, and looked up at him. Her eyes were a bit blurry and red, but looked happy.

His hand stilled. "What's so funny?"

"This. You and I taking a bath together."

"There's something funny about it? I thought you were just being practical about the hot water." He winked.

"Oh, I was. And nothing's funny, really. I'm just feeling happy, that's all." She shifted her body slightly, and leaned up to kiss his lips. He met her mouth eagerly, tasting the porter she had after dinner.

After a time, she sighed and pulled away, and then gazed up at him.

"Will you make love to me tonight?"

One corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, but he shook his head.

"No. Not tonight."

"No?" Her mouth fell open. "Why not? Don't you . . . d-don't you . . . want me?"

He cupped her face in one hand. "Yes. I want you. Desperately." He pressed his lips to hers, briefly. "But you, my dear, are drunk. Charmingly so, but I don't want your first time to be like this. I need to know you really want to make love, and it isn't just the whiskey talking. And I want you to remember every minute of it."

"Oh," she said softly. "I thought maybe it would be a good idea if I was a little bit drunk the first time we . . . you know."

His brow furrowed. "What? Why?"

"I've heard it hurts. Not that I'm really afraid of that. But . . . even so, I thought maybe it would be easier this way."

"Is that why you drank so much at dinner?"

"No." She shook her head, her movements slightly exaggerated. "I wanted the whiskey to drive those sodding darkspawn out of my mind. Which it did, I guess." She shrugged her shoulders. "It was only afterward I remembered what other people had said. And I thought maybe this would be a good opportunity for us. After all," she said shyly, glancing back at the room, "we're here, alone together. And we have a bed all to ourselves." She bit her lip again. "Are you sure you don't want to make love to me tonight?"

He most certainly did want to make love to her tonight. But he wouldn't. He couldn't take her for the first time when she was intoxicated. And he'd had enough whiskey he might not be able to perform . . . robustly enough, either.

"We'll still be here in the morning. Alone, with a bed. If you feel like this when we wake up tomorrow, I'll make love to you then. Gladly."

"Oh. All right." Her smile told him she was satisfied with that answer. "To tell you the truth, I'm feeling a little bit sleepy right now. I think it might be the hot water." Then she leaned up to kiss him. As he returned her kiss, he allowed his hands to roam over her skin. He took one of her breasts in his hand, and her breath caught in her chest, and she drove her tongue more deeply into his mouth. His body responded, and for a moment he tried to fight it. But that wasn't necessary, was it? He wouldn't make love to her tonight, but there was no reason they shouldn't enjoy one another like this for a while. And there was no shame in wanting her; she was an incredibly lovely young woman.

A few minutes later, she pulled away, leaning her head back against his chest and sighing deeply. She giggled again, but didn't bother to explain what, if anything, she found amusing.

"You know," he murmured close to her ear, "I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before."

She laughed at this. "I'm not sure I've ever been drunk before. Not like this, anyway. Whiskey is quite a bit stronger than beer, isn't it?" Before he could answer, she continued, "Stupid darkspawn! If we hadn't gone to investigate that farm, we'd be back in Denerim. We would have spoken to my father, and been officially betrothed by now!" She took a deep breath and then let it out again, and Loghain was mesmerized by the sight of her breasts as they rose and fell.

"That is true. But if it weren't for the darkspawn, we wouldn't be enjoying a bath together tonight."

"Oh. Good point." She kissed him again, and his hands began to learn the lines of her body: which places, when touched, made her sigh, and where her skin was sensitive to being tickled. When they pulled apart, she looked up at him, her brow furrowed. She reached up and touched the hair at his temple. "Your braids are undone. When did that happen?"

"I took them out while you were getting in the bath. I need to wash my hair; there's blood in it."

"Oh." It amused him, the way she kept saying that. She was adorable like this.

Suddenly, she sat up in the tub. "Well, you should probably do it before the water gets cold. I'll do it for you, if you like. Wash your hair."

"All right."

"I'll need to get out of the tub and sit behind you." She looked back at him, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn't move to stand, though.

"What's wrong?"

"I need to get out of the tub."

"All right."

Still, she waited, staring up at him. Was something wrong? He wasn't holding onto her in any way that would have prevented her from standing.

"Loghain!" She sounded slightly exasperated.

"What's wrong, love?"

"I'm naked," she whispered. "You've got to close your eyes when I get out of the tub."

"What?" For a moment, he just stared at her, his brow furrowed. Then he burst into laughter. "Rhianna, we've been sitting in the bath together, unclothed, for the past half an hour. You asked me to make love to you. Had you expected we would do that fully dressed?"

She giggled. "No, of course not. But those things are different. It's one thing to be in the bath together. Or in bed. But it makes me nervous thinking about you watching me stand up and walk across the room without any clothes. What if . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"What if what?"

"Nothing. I . . . I'm being stupid, I know, but it makes me nervous. So just close your eyes."

"As you wish." Chuckling, he did as she asked. He listened as she stepped out of the tub, wrapped herself in a towel, and padded across the room.

After a minute, she called out, "All right. You can open your eyes again." He glanced back to see she now wore a long-sleeved shirt of lilac-colored linen that fell just below her hips. Her smallclothes peeked out from underneath. She smiled at him, and carried a stool from across the room, placing it at the end of the tub near his head.

"Thank you," she said. "I know I'm being silly."

"It's not silly, Rhianna. I want you to feel comfortable with me. Always."

Then he faced forward as she took his head gently between her hands.

"Slide down to get your hair in the water."

He did as she instructed, her hands guiding his head. Then her fingers gently weaved through his hair, separating the strands so all of them were wetted. Her gentle pressure urged his head back up above the water's surface. Then, she lathered her hands with soap, and ran them over his hair.

Starting at his temples, her fingers made circles over his scalp, small at first, but soon growing wider, and firmer. He sighed, and relaxed his body into the tub and his head into her hands. Her fingers moved just above his forehead, careful not to allow any soapy water to drip down onto his face. Then, her hands moved to the back of his head, and she ran her thumbs above his ears and down along the nape of his neck.

Maker's breath, this felt amazing.

Spreading her fingers wide, she ran them from the nape of his neck upward, rubbing in small circles as she moved across his entire scalp, up over the top of his head, until just two fingers worked the pressure points at his temples. Her fingers stilled for a moment, sitting lightly on his skin. Then, starting at the hairline at his forehead, she pulled her fingers back across and down his scalp, scratching lightly with her fingernails. Using all ten fingers at once, she massaged his entire scalp, before pulling up the rest of his hair, making certain all of those strands were touched by the soapy lather, as well.

She whispered in his ear. "Slide back down into the water."

He did so, and again her fingers worked their way over his head, making sure the soap was washed away from every inch of his scalp, and the long strands were rinsed clean, as well. When she urged him back up out of the water, she gathered all his hair into her hands at once, and twisted it gently, to squeeze out the excess water. Then, she combed it back from his forehead with her fingers until it was smooth. Finally, she planted a kiss on the top of his head.

"There. That's you all clean." She stood, and walked over to the bed, sitting as he had sat earlier, facing away from him, giving him the privacy she herself had wanted when getting out of the bath.

He had not felt this relaxed in years. Reluctant to get out of the water and break the spell she had woven with her fingers, he lay there in silence until the chill in the water became noticeable. Then he pulled himself up and stepped out of the tub, wrapping himself in a towel.

When he crossed the room to sit beside her, she looked up at him with a smile.

"Thank you," he said. "That felt . . . very good."

She bit her lip, smiling shyly. "You're welcome."

A wave of emotion hit him, like an ache in his chest. Gratitude, perhaps, and more than a bit of awe and wonder that Rhianna was here with him like this. She was so precious, and always had been. When she was small, she had been adorable and feisty and honest and unintentionally funny. As she grew, she remained feisty and honest, but her wit was intentional. And now, she had become an utterly lovely woman. Just as Maric had predicted, although Loghain doubted even Maric could have guessed just how lovely, how kind, how breath-takingly beautiful Rhianna Cousland would become.

And she would be his wife. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the thought, without any guilt or lingering doubts. She was beautiful and sweet and funny and courageous, and soon she would belong to him, and he would belong to her. And he would do his best, every day for the rest of his life, to be good to her.

Reaching up to take her face between his hands, he pulled her close and kissed her. She eagerly wrapped her arms around him, in spite of the damp towel around his waist, and the water still dripping from his hair. He gave himself to her, and let everything else fall away. Nothing else in all the world mattered except this moment, with her.

When the kiss ended, she put her hands on his shoulders. "Would you like me to redo your braids?"

It had been years since someone had offered that. Surprised, but also pleased, he leaned back on his hands near the middle of the bed, so she had room to sit behind him without being in danger of slipping off the edge. She separated out a section of hair on his left temple, and deftly braided it. When he handed her a thin leather thong to tie the end, she took it, but before fastening it around the end, she put the braid to her lips, and kissed it.

He raised a brow at her, and she giggled. "That's the way Oriana always fastens my braids. She puts a kiss on the end for love and good luck."

Love and good luck. The most delicious warmth flooded through him at these words, but he couldn't think of anything to say in response as Rhianna made a knot in the leather. She repeated all the steps - including the kiss - on the other side. He couldn't remember the last time another person had done something like this for him. It was incredibly intimate, possibly more so than if they had made love.

"All done," she said.

"Thank you."

Her hand flew to her mouth, to cover a deep yawn.

She giggled. "I think the hot water and whiskey have caught up with me." Shifting herself off of her knees and onto her bottom, she arched her back and stretched her arms above her head, yawning a second time. "I think I'm ready to go to sleep. What about you?"

"I'm ready for bed whenever you are."

She slid underneath the covers, and settled her head on one of the pillows, gazing up at him, her eyes shining. Loghain got up from the bed, and, after cinching the towel tighter around his waist, crossed the room to tamp down the fire. Immediately, the room darkened, and he walked back over the bed.

"Will it bother you if I sleep without anything on?"

"No," she murmured. "It won't bother me."

He slipped out of the towel and under the bedclothes. When he stretched out his arms to Rhianna, she came into them without hesitation, cuddling herself into the crook of his shoulder. One of her hands reached up and clung gently to his arm.

"Good night," she whispered. She kissed his chest, then laid her cheek over the spot her lips had touched. Almost immediately, her breath settled into the regular pattern of sleep.

For a few minutes, Loghain allowed himself to enjoy the feel of her against his body, the way her breasts pressed against him, how her stomach touched the side of his hip. She sighed in her sleep, and shifted position so she lay more closely beside him, and one of her legs slid across the top of his. Tightening his arms around her, he kissed the top of her head.

"Good night, my love," he whispered.

Within minutes, he, too, entered the Fade.

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As always, a huge thank you to my marvelous beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to my wonderful reviewers: Arsinoe de Blassenville, Milly-finalfantasy, GLCW2, KatDancer2, SwomeeSwan, Serena R. Snape, KrystylSky, Dragonmactir, Seth Motley, and Melysande.

Also, there is a gorgeous drawing to accompany this chapter, which you can find by clicking the "Extras" link on my profile.

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	61. The secrets he would teach her

_**10 August, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**The Bannorn**__**  
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As Rhianna came slowly awake, she found herself pressed up against something warm and solid. She pulled herself closer to this comforting warmth, and realized this was not some_thing_ but some_one_.

Loghain.

She was tucked close against him, one of her arms draped across his chest, and her leg slung over his hips. A wide smile crept across her lips as she nuzzled her face against him.

Maker, but this felt good, being close to him like this, his arm tight around her. The way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the sound of his heart beat as it echoed against her. His warmth, his familiar scent. It was all a bit muddled in her head; just how had they come to be sleeping together like this? But she was so comfortable she didn't really care.

Finally, her eyes fluttered open, and the unfamiliar surroundings added to her confusion. This was not her room in Highever House, or anywhere she remembered being before. It was a small bedroom, with a tub on the other side of the room.

Images from the previous day flashed through her memory: Teyrn's Peak. The burnt-out farm hold. Darkspawn. Dinner in the tavern. The bath she and Loghain had shared in the big wooden tub.

They had been unable to make it back to Denerim before dark, and had spent the night in an inn.

And before that, much earlier in the day, they'd climbed Teryn's Peak and Loghain had promised to speak to her father.

They were going to be married.

Her smile grew even wider as she sighed and nuzzled her cheek against him again. Then she turned her head to plant a kiss on his chest, and settled her cheek over the spot.

They were going to be married.

After a minute, she looked up at his face. His eyes were closed, as though he were still asleep. She didn't want to disturb him, but a feeling bloomed in her chest – he was so handsome, and she loved him so much. She wanted to hear his voice, see the light in his eyes. Unable to keep from reaching out to him in some way, she placed a light kiss on his jaw, where the top of the bone jutted out.

His chest filled with a deep breath, and he opened his eyes. He turned to her as a slow smile stretched across his face.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning."

Suddenly shy, she bit her lower lip. As warm and comfortable as she felt, there was something alarming about waking up beside an unclothed man, now that he was awake as well.

And there was something else, something that set her nerves on fire. She'd been drunk last night - quite drunk, in fact - but she seemed to recall asking him to make love to her. And he'd said no, but promised they could do so in the morning.

Pale, delicate sunlight filtered through the dirty glass of a small, square window set high in the wall of their room.

It was morning, and her breath hitched at the thought of what they might do together once they were properly awake.

"Did you sleep well?" He brushed away a strand of hair that had fallen into her face, and rested his palm against her cheek.

"Yes, very well," she answered honestly. "And you?"

"I can't remember the last time I slept this soundly."

For a moment, she just stared up at him, not sure what to say or do next. Did he even remember what they'd talked about? He'd been drunk, too. At any rate, she felt restless and twitchy, almost, and realized she needed to relieve herself.

She slipped out of Loghain's arms, and then out of the bed. "I'll be right back," she promised, and went behind the wooden screen in the corner to make use of the chamber pot.

When she returned, Loghain followed her example.

She watched as he crossed the room, naked, and a flush of desire flared inside of her at the sight of his well-muscled body from behind.

She wanted him. She wanted to make love to him, wanted to know the secrets he would teach her. But she was scared, too, although she wasn't entirely certain what exactly it was that frightened her.

That it would hurt? That it would be . . . what? Awful in some way? That she would find out she didn't like it at all? That seemed unlikely. She'd enjoyed everything else she and Loghain had done together. The way he kissed her, the feel of his hands on her body, the sounds he made deep in his chest, sounds that echoed in her own body, causing her to yearn for something more.

Perhaps she feared that she would disappoint him in some way. That he would discover he didn't really want her, after all.

Or perhaps she just wasn't ready yet.

He wouldn't be angry with her if she suggested they get dressed and go down to breakfast. She knew he wouldn't be angry. But was that what she wanted? Or did she want to stay here, to stay in this bed and give herself to him completely?

When he crossed back to the bed, Rhianna averted her eyes, not wanting him to notice that she had been watching. Which was stupid, and silly. They were going to be married. They'd lain naked together in the tub the previous night. Surely, it was all right for her to see him without his clothes on.

Even so, she kept her eyes turned away, and felt warmth bloom in her cheeks.

After he slid into the bed beside her, he lay on his back and rested his hands behind his head. He looked relaxed. Far more relaxed than Rhianna felt.

She propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at him. "Do you remember what we talked about last night?"

"We talked about a variety of things. Is there something in particular?" He lifted a brow. Did he really not remember, or was he merely trying to give her a way out if she decided she wasn't ready for this after all?

"When we were in the bath, and I asked you to make love to me?"

"Oh, that." One corner of his mouth twitched. He'd known precisely what she was going to say. "Yes. I remember."

She took a breath, and glanced at the window. "It's morning now. And we're awake, and no longer drunk."

He didn't say anything, he just looked up at her, the smile still playing at one corner of his mouth.

She chewed on her lower lip. "Do you still want to make love?"

His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her face. "Do you?"

She remembered the sight of him as he walked across the room, the feel of his body beneath hers as they soaked in the tub. The taste of his mouth and the sound of his breath close to her ear.

A rush of warmth made her heart beat faster, and she took a deep breath.

"Yes."

He sat up and faced her. "Then yes. I do. If it's what you want."

"It is. What I . . . want."

She held his gaze and grabbed the hem of her shirt, her eyes only leaving his for the time it took her to pull it up and over her head. When she was free of it, she tossed it to the end of the bed.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

For a moment, Loghain was unable to tear his eyes away from her. She was so beautiful, her skin gleaming softly in the pale morning light, the way her hair fell down around her shoulders, framing her face. The warmth in her eyes, and the way her chest rose and fell with her breath. She didn't smile; if anything, she looked slightly concerned. Even frightened, perhaps, which was to be expected.

He would do everything in his power to soothe away her fears, and to make certain she enjoyed every minute of what they were about to do.

When his eyes met hers again, he leaned closer and took her face between his hands. It was all he could do to keep himself calm. He wanted to grab her, wanted to pull her close and kiss her hard and fast. He wanted to bury himself, lose himself in her completely. But he couldn't. He didn't want to frighten her, or, Maker forbid, hurt her in any way.

So he moved his lips against hers, as tenderly as he could manage. She laid her palms against his chest and her fingers pressed gently into his flesh as though she wanted to reach inside of him.

A slight smile formed on his lips as he pulled her closer, and she returned the kiss, her lips eager, her tongue playing across his bottom lip.

Not so many days ago he had kissed her for the first time. That tentative, searching, slightly awkward first kiss. Now, there was no hesitation in the way she kissed him, in the way she responded to his kisses. And she was ready to go beyond just kisses. Maker knows he was ready, had been ready for this for what seemed like forever.

But was this what she really wanted?

He pulled away, to study her face. Her pupils were large and dark, her lips slightly parted and unsmiling. She blinked, and looked down at his lips before meeting his eyes. There, he saw desire, most assuredly. But something else, as well, something that looked like fear.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Rhianna? For yourself, not just to please me?"

She did not hesitate. "Yes. I want this. I want to belong to you. To know that you belong to me. Please."

Oh, Maker. Yes.

He caressed her face, and then slid his hand along her neck, over the curve of her shoulder, and down the smooth skin of her arm. Rhianna's breath came faster now through her open mouth, and he moved his hand to her waist and rested it there as he leaned close to kiss her again. She met his lips eagerly, and her tongue explored his mouth as he slid one hand behind the small of her back. Without breaking the kiss, he eased her onto her back.

He sat up and allowed his eyes to travel over her body, clad only in her smallclothes. She was perfect, and his body responded to the sight of her, and he fought back his desire, from force of habit.

But then he allowed himself to relax. There was no need to fight these feelings. She wanted him to make love to her, here and now. And that's what he intended to do.

He reached out to stroke her cheek again before leaning down to kiss her, and stretching himself alongside her body. Her arm snaked around his waist, as his hand began to explore her skin. He traced the line of her jaw, and gently stroked her neck. His fingers brushed past her collarbone, and then down the side of her body, as she trembled slightly beneath his hand.

He allowed his hand to rest at her knee, as he focused once again on kissing her. For a while there was nothing but their lips joined, their tongues intertwining, his body pressed against the length of hers.

Then he slid his hand higher, up the inside of her thigh, until he felt the thin fabric of her smalls . . .

A sound split the air. Five sharp raps on the wooden door to their room.

Loghain and Rhianna pulled apart, both sitting up in the bed.

"Who . . . who could that be?" Rhianna's voice was breathless, and scared. "No one knows we're here. Unless . . . You don't think my father came looking for me, do you?"

Oh, Maker. That would be awkward. And highly unlikely, although the rush of pleasure Loghain had felt just a moment before was gone, replaced by dread and anxiety.

"I can't imagine it would be your father." That much was true; how could Bryce have traveled through the night and found the exact inn where they were staying? But who else would have any reason to disturb them?

The knock sounded again.

"I'll see who it is." Loghain climbed out of bed and pulled on his trousers. As he grabbed his longsword from the bedside table, he saw Rhianna slip her shirt back over her head. She, too, picked up her weapon: the dagger she had kept close during the night, as well.

With Dane at his side, Loghain eased open the door just enough to look out into the hallway.

It was the innkeeper.

"Begging your pardon, ser. And that of the lady." The man's voice was strained; clearly, he was unhappy about disturbing his guests. "But there are men here asking to speak to you. Well, not asking exactly. Demanding, more like."

"Men? What men?"

"Grey Wardens, ser."

Maker's balls.

The innkeeper continued, "I'm sorry ser, I told them you and the young lady were still abed, but they insisted I wake you. I really am sorry, ser, but there are five of them, and they're a bit . . . overbearing."

"It's all right," Loghain replied. "I'm familiar with the Grey Wardens, and how they behave. Tell them we'll be out shortly."

Loghain shut the door and leaned back against it, closing his eyes.

Grey Wardens. He probably should have expected this. But Maker's balls, could their timing have been any worse? What was that Maker-damned order doing in this part of Ferelden anyway? Were the darkspawn he and Rhianna fought yesterday more than an isolated incident?

At any rate, this must be dealt with, and now. Damn them. Damn them all to the Void.

He opened his eyes and crossed the room to sit beside Rhianna on the bed.

"Grey Wardens?" Her face was pale, her eyes wide and frightened. "I didn't think there were Wardens in Ferelden anymore. Weren't they banished by King Arland two centuries ago?"

"They were banished, but Maric allowed them to return, about twenty years ago." Loghain gave a humorless, barking laugh. "Remind me to tell you that story later."

"But what do they want with us?"

"I expect they're here about the darkspawn we fought yesterday. Looking to gather the details about what happened. I'm sure it's nothing more than that. Chasing after darkspawn is what they do, after all."

"All right." She didn't sound reassured.

He didn't blame her.

He leaned forward and kissed her briefly on the lips. "We should talk to them. Get this over with. They won't just go away, no matter how much I wish they would."

"All right." She bit her lip, but then leaned forward and kissed him, forcefully, on the lips. Pulling her close, he gratefully returned the kiss.

"Damn the Wardens and their abysmally bad timing," he murmured when they pulled apart. He took her face between his hands. "We will finish what we started, Rhianna. Soon, I promise."

Her smile looked forced. "It isn't your fault. And we have all the time in the world ahead of us, right?"

"Yes, that we do."

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

Ten minutes later, Rhianna and Loghain had dressed and packed the few things they'd brought with them. With Dane at Rhianna's side, they entered the common room of the inn. There weren't many people in the dining hall, but even had the room been packed, it would have been easy to figure out which ones were the Grey Wardens. They sat together, five men at a table near the window.

Halfway across the room, Loghain stopped short.

Rhianna placed her hand on his arm. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes." His tone told a somewhat different story. "I know one of these men; I'll tell you about it later."

As they approached the table, all the Wardens stood. Four of them wore identical uniforms: chain mail, with a blue tunic over the top. Embroidered in the center of each of the tunics was a griffon rampant, presumably the symbol of the order.

The fifth Warden was dressed differently, in clothing unlike anything Rhianna had seen before. He wore a silver cuirass and pauldrons over a long tunic of light orange, with a light-colored overskirt around his waist. His dark hair was pulled back into a queue, and his beard was slightly unkempt. He had dark skin and a severe nose, and would have been handsome except for a fierce, predatory look in his dark eyes.

Something about him frightened her.

It was this man who spoke first. "Teyrn Loghain. I must say I would not have guessed you were the man we came here to find."

"Duncan," Loghain replied, unsmiling. The two men did not bow to one another in greeting; clearly, they knew one another, but seemed not to like one another at all.

"We were told by the innkeeper that you and your companion," the dark-haired man – Duncan - nodded at Rhianna, "were at a nearby farmhouse yesterday. One that burned to the ground. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Then I expect you can guess why we wanted to speak with you?"

Loghain gestured with his head in the direction of the innkeeper. "Did you tell him what you found?"

"No."

"Then perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere more private.

"As you wish."

For a moment, Rhianna feared Loghain would suggest going back to the bedroom where they had spent the night. It was uncomfortable to think of being in that room with all these strangers, in light of what she had Loghain had been doing together in the bed just a few short minutes ago.

But Loghain led the way out the front door instead. They crossed the yard in front of the inn, into the shade of an apple tree beside the split-rail fence that enclosed the yard. Rhianna was shorter than all of the men present, so she climbed up to sit on the top rail of the fence, bringing herself closer to eye level. Loghain stood close beside her, arms crossed in front of his chest, while Dane sat on his haunches near her feet, his muscles tense and his pointed ears erect.

Duncan and the other Wardens stood in an arc nearby, with hands on hips, or arms crossed, all standing quite straight. Were they trying to look intimidating, or was that just their usual demeanor?

Duncan spoke first. "We found darkspawn at the farmhold. Dead. Ten of them. I assume the two of you fought, and killed them?"

"The three of us," Rhianna corrected. She gestured to the dog at her feet. "My mabari was there as well."

"Of course." Duncan met Dane's eyes. "One of them had its throat torn out. I apologize for the omission." He paused, looking at Rhianna, then at Loghain, and then back to Rhianna. "Was it you, my lady, who fought with a bow?"

"Yes."

"You killed four of the creatures."

Rhianna shrugged. "I wasn't counting, ser. I just wanted them dead."

Duncan's eyes narrowed and he stared into her face for a moment longer than felt comfortable, as though he were weighing something in his mind.

Finally, he turned to Loghain. "And you killed five. Also very impressive."

"We intended to return this morning, and burn the bodies," Loghain said. "And search the woods more thoroughly for survivors."

"There's no need for you to return," Duncan said. "We arrived at the farmhouse very early this morning, having tracked the darkspawn from Knotwood Hills, near Amaranthine. That's where this band surfaced. We've already burned the bodies."

"What about the rest of the family?" Rhianna asked. "Did you find any sign of them? There was a woman, and two daughters. And a young boy who was their farmhand."

"There were no survivors."

"But did you look for them, in the woods?"

"Of course." Duncan held her gaze while he spoke, but for some reason, she suspected he wasn't telling the truth. Or, not the whole truth, at any rate.

"You said 'this band?'" Loghain asked. "There have been others?"

Duncan hesitated. "Yes. In various parts of Ferelden, but mostly down in the south, in the Korcari Wilds. This is the farthest north we've yet found them."

"Why are they coming to the surface?" Rhianna asked. "I thought that only happened during a blight. This isn't . . . this can't be the start of a blight. Can it?"

"As far we know, it's not," Duncan said. "But it would be a mistake to rule out the possibility. In any case, some of my Wardens are going to return to the farmhold today, and track the darkspawn that went off into the woods." He glanced at Rhianna. "And double-check for survivors. Once we are certain there are no stragglers, that should take care of any imminent threat to this part of the country." He turned to Loghain. "I understand this year's Landsmeet has just ended in Denerim. Will the nobles still be assembled in the city?"

"Most of them."

"Do you and the lady intend to return to Denerim soon?"

"Yes. We'll head back today, once we're finished here."

"Then I'll travel with you. It would be good to speak with the King and Queen, and the rest of the Fereldan nobility. Inform them of the darkspawn activity we've witnessed."

Loghain shrugged. "I'm sure that could be arranged."

As the conversation seemed to be winding down, Rhianna had a question of her own. "May I ask you something, ser?"

"Of course," Duncan replied.

"It's about my dog. When the darkspawn first appeared, Loghain told me and Dane not to go anywhere near them, not to touch them. But I wasn't able to hold Dane back, and, as you saw, he bit one of them. Afterwards, he was sick, or something. He collapsed. I thought he was dead. But he woke up again after a few minutes. Should I be worried he's caught the blight sickness? And if he is sick, is there anything I can do to heal him?"

Duncan knelt beside Dane. The hound sensed his mistress' ambivalence about the bearded man, but allow him to come close, and rub him behind the ears. After a moment, Duncan stood.

"There is no true cure for blight sickness," he began, "but if Dane were going to die from it, he would be dead already. You have no cause for concern."

Rhianna released the breath she had been holding. Dane was all right. "Thank the Maker."

"I wonder, my lady," Duncan continued, "if you have ever considered joining the Grey Wardens. We always have need of skilled warriors, and you clearly fit that description.

"No!" Loghain's voice rang out, harsh and angry. "Absolutely not."

Rhianna turned to look at him, surprised by his vehemence. She certainly had no desire to become a Grey Warden, but she wondered why Loghain was so vocally opposed.

"I could invoke the Right of Conscription." Duncan smiled as he said this, his tone seeming forcedly cheerful. Rhianna leaned closer to Loghain's comforting presence.

"I wouldn't recommend it," Loghain replied. "Not if you wish the continuing cooperation of the nobility. This is Rhianna Cousland."

"Cousland? The daughter of the Teyrn of Highever?" Duncan looked at Rhianna, then sighed. "The old treaties allow me to conscript you even against your wishes. But our order is too small to risk animosity with Ferelden's nobility, even though you clearly have the skills we seek in our recruits. Should you ever decide you wish to join our order, please know you would be most welcome, as would your hound." The intensity of his gaze made Rhianna more than a little uncomfortable.

"Thank you, ser, but I have no interest in becoming a Grey Warden, and I don't foresee that changing in the future."

Duncan inclined his head respectfully, but Rhianna could sense his disappointment. After all, he hadn't said he wouldn't conscript her because it went against her wishes, only that he declined to do so for political reasons. But why would he be so interested in conscripting her in the first place? Surely the Wardens could find other people to recruit.

"When did you intend to leave for Denerim?" Duncan asked.

"We haven't yet broken our fast this morning," Loghain replied, "but as soon as that is done, we'll be on our way."

"I don't have a mount," Duncan said more to himself than to any of the others. "I'll have to ask about hiring one at the inn." He shook his head, and then addressed Rhianna and Loghain again. "If you'll excuse me, I need to speak to my Wardens, so they can get started with their search of the woods near the farmhouse. I'll find you after your meal, and hopefully we can leave for Denerim together."

As Rhianna and Loghain returned to the inn, it occurred to her that Duncan had never really asked, nor been given permission, to travel with them. He just seemed to assume they would allow it. As though the Wardens felt entitled to being treated however they wanted to be treated, and taking whatever they wanted to take.

"That was uncomfortable," Rhianna murmured once they were seated at a table and had ordered their food. "Would he really have conscripted me, if I haven't been the daughter of a teyrn? Even after I told him I didn't want to join?"

"I have no doubt that's exactly what he would have done. I think he considered conscripting you, even knowing who you are." Loghain's voice was dark. "The Grey Wardens . . ." He let out a breath. "Remember I promised to tell you a story about when Maric gave them permission to return to Ferelden?"

"Yes."

"I think I'll tell it now. It will clarify a few things, and you'll see why the Grey Wardens are not to be trusted.

"About twenty years ago, a group of Wardens arrived in Denerim. They were led by the Orlesian Warden Commander, a woman named Genevieve, who had come to make a ridiculous request. She wanted to someone - Maric or myself - to guide them into the Deep Roads to search for a fellow Warden. This man, Bregan by name, had been sent down into the Deep Roads to die, in spite of having direct knowledge of the locations of all three remaining archdemons."

"Wait, I'm not following. Why would they send him into the Deep Roads? Had he been convicted of some crime?"

They were interrupted by the serving woman bringing their food, but as soon as she walked away again, Loghain continued.

"No, he wasn't in any sort of trouble. I'm not clear on all the details, but apparently when Wardens are near the end of their lives, they're sent down into the Deep Roads to die fighting darkspawn. It's considered an honorable and presumably quick death. Only this Bregan managed to survive underground for some time. And with the knowledge he had of the archdemons, apparently the Wardens realized it was risky having him running around down there where the darkspawn might find him. Which, as it turns out, is exactly what happened."

"I still don't see what this has to do with you and Maric."

"They thought he was somewhere in the vicinity of Ortan Thaig."

"Ah. Where you and Maric passed through during the Rebellion."

"Exactly. But it was ridiculously inappropriate to request the King of Ferelden to run off on an errand of this sort. In the end, I would have agreed to go with them just to keep him safely at home, but Maric got it in his head to run off with them behind my back."

Rhianna chuckled. "Typical Maric, even back then?"

This got the hint of a smile to cross his lips. "Always." Any amusement he might have been feeling soon slipped away, though. "So, Maric went off on this merry chase at the behest of the Grey Wardens, and very nearly died as a result."

"And what of this other Warden? The one they were looking for? Did they find him?"

"Yes, presumably before he revealed the locations of the old gods. But there was more to it than a simple search for this man. Before Bregan was found and stopped, several Wardens - including Bregan himself - joined forces with the darkspawn."

"What? Joined forces? But how is that possible? I thought their sole purpose was to fight darkspawn!"

"Once upon a time, perhaps. But it is clear to me that at least some of them no longer hold true to that mission. As far as I'm concerned, the Grey Wardens have not only outlived their usefulness, but should be considered dangerous in their own right."

"But what about the darkspawn we saw yesterday? And others being sighted in Ferelden? Perhaps that Bregan did tell the darkspawn where to find an archdemon. What if one of them has been awoken, and this really is the start of a blight?"

"Rhianna," Loghain reached across the table and took her hand. "Even Duncan said there was no archdemon. I suspect the Wardens' presence here is mostly an attempt to make themselves seem important. That mess with Bregan happened two decades ago. Surely, if an archdemon had been found back then, we would have known about it long before now. Yes, darkspawn remain below the surface, and occasionally come aboveground. This is troublesome, but certainly within the scope of local guards and regular soldiers to handle. And it has been four hundred years since the appearance of an archdemon. I sincerely doubt another will ever appear."

"I suppose you're right."

"I'm sure of it. And more important, you must remember that the Grey Wardens can't be trusted. They were willing to take the Fereldan king into danger, and some of them formed alliances with the very darkspawn they are sworn to fight. And on top of all of that, they have too many connections with Orlais. No, we have no need of Wardens here. Not now, not ever. Even if there is another blight, I'd much prefer to fight it without their assistance."

"Is this how you know Duncan, then? Did he come to Ferelden all those years ago?"

"Yes. Duncan was with them. He was just a boy at the time, perhaps not yet of legal age. And they'd recruited him - against his will, according to Maric. It turns my stomach to think he is now wandering across Ferelden, doing the same. Threatening to conscript people who want nothing to do with the damned irrelevant Grey Wardens."

"Did he do something back then, to make you dislike him? Was he one of the Wardens who joined with the darkspawn?"

"No, he didn't join with the darkspawn." Loghain shrugged. "According to Maric, the man was actually quite brave. Even so, I don't trust him. I don't trust anyone who was involved in that whole unforgivable fiasco. And now he thinks he can come here and threaten to conscript you? No." He shook his head. "He's Orlesian. And he's a Grey Warden."

"Even so, we should bring him with us to Denerim, don't you think? There really are darkspawn here in Ferelden. We saw that for ourselves. The king and queen - and the other nobles - should know about it."

"Yes, I agree. As much as I dislike the man, and the thought of spending so much time in his company pains me, it would be best to get back to Denerim quickly, and be done with this." He squeezed her hand. "And then, once we've put this entire business behind us, I'll speak to your father."

This brought a smile to Rhianna's face. She leaned close and kissed him gently on the lips. Loghain lifted a hand to her face, holding her close for a moment while he returned the kiss.

When they pulled apart, and she sat back in her chair, she looked up to see Duncan approach the table.

"I've found a horse, and will be ready to leave whenever you are." He looked down at their half-eaten breakfast plates.

"Another ten minutes and we should be ready to go," Loghain said.

"Fair enough. I'll just leave the two of your to your meal, then. I'll be waiting in the stables."

They were silent as they watched Duncan stride back across the room.

"He scares me," Rhianna admitted, once he had walked through the door.

"That is a reasonable response. He is not a man to be trusted."

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

"Darkspawn?" Rendon Howe's voice was incredulous. "That's not possible, is it?"

"Yes, it's possible," Loghain replied. "Rhianna and I encountered a group of them yesterday."

Bryce drew in a sharp breath as excited murmurs broke out around the small audience room in the palace. When Rhianna and Loghain had ridden into Denerim just after midday, accompanied by Ferelden's Commander of the Grey, the King and Queen had hurriedly summoned all available nobles. More than a dozen people were in attendance, including Urien Kendalls, Rendon Howe, Bann Esmerelle, Teagan Guerrin, Gallagher Wulff and, of course, Bryce himself.

"You saw what? Darkspawn? Maker's balls, where?" Bryce had struggled to remain calm last night, when the bird arrived with word that Rhianna and Loghain would not return home until the next day. But to discover this was the reason for it?

"In the Bannorn," Rhianna replied. "Loghain and I saw smoke in the distance, from the top of Teyrn's Peak. A farmhouse on fire. We rode out to see if we could help. When we got there, the farm was already burned to the ground, and while we looked around for survivors, a number of darkspawn came over the hill and attacked."

"Attacked?" Anora sounded vaguely horrified. "Maker. What happened then? Did you fight them?"

"Yes. And we managed to kill them all."

"How many were there?" Cailan, by contrast, sounded excited.

"Ten."

Everyone in the room went silent, until Anora spoke, addressing her question to Duncan. "Have there been other sightings?"

"Yes. Darkspawn sightings have become a regular occurrence over the past year or so, and in speaking with Teyrn Mac Tir and Lady Cousland, I realized you were not aware of what was happening. This is the main reason I asked to accompany them here today."

"Where have these sightings taken place," Anora asked, "and how many darkspawn have been seen?"

"In the south, mostly. In or near the Korcari Wilds. At first, there weren't many. Every few months we'd hear a story from someone who claimed to see them, and occasionally we encountered them ourselves. But sightings have become more frequent lately, and in more northern locations. There have been a few attacks in the Brecilian Forest, and most recently, in the Bannorn. The largest number we've sighted at one time was just outside Lothering, about three months ago. There were twenty-three of them, although groups of the size seen yesterday by the Teyrn and Lady Cousland are more typical. It is, however, difficult to get too deep into the Wilds, so it's possible the darkspawn have emerged there in even larger numbers."

"When you say sightings have become 'more frequent,' just what does that mean?" Gallagher Wullf's expression was grim. "How often is this happening?"

"I would estimate there have been about twenty occurrences during the past year. Perhaps more."

Again, the room went silent, as that news was taken in.

Duncan continued, "We should consider the possibility this is the start of a fifth blight."

"Surely not," Arl Howe scoffed. "It's been four hundred years since the last one. If the darkspawn were capable of mounting another blight, they would have done so long ago."

"There are three archdemons slumbering beneath Thedas," Duncan insisted. "As long as they remain, the potential for a blight remains as well."

"It's easy for you to be skeptical, Howe," Arl Wulff added. "Amaranthine is as far as you can get from the Wilds. West Hills, on the other hand . . . If darkspawn are coming out of the Wilds, we can't afford for this threat not to be taken seriously."

"But," Arl Howe said smoothly, "surely the darkspawn can't be all that deadly. After all, didn't we just hear that Teyrn Loghain and Rhianna Cousland defeated _ten_ of the creatures? All by themselves? Certainly, Loghain is a fine warrior, but the fact that he and a girl not yet of age were able to kill that many darkspawn . . . Well, they hardly seem like much of a threat."

"I assure you," Duncan countered, "darkspawn are not to be underestimated. Not only are they capable of killing outright, but the blight sickness they carry is a real source of danger for the people of Ferelden. I think, too, we must not downplay the martial skills of the Teyrn and Lady Cousland both. I saw the aftermath, and assure you it was no easy battle. The darkspawn pose a legitimate threat."

Bryce glanced at his daughter, still deeply disturbed at the thought she had not only seen, but come uncomfortably close to some of these creatures.

Bryce turned to Duncan. "Have you seen any indication this is, indeed, the start of a blight? Anything other than the presence of small groups of darkspawn? Have other parts of Thedas experienced an increase in the activity of darkspawn above the ground?"

Duncan glanced at Bryce, and then around at the faces staring back at him. "No," he admitted. "I don't have any evidence that an archdemon has risen. But it is a possibility that cannot be ignored."

"Without evidence," Arl Howe drawled, "just what is it you expect us to do? Are you asking for something in particular? Money, I suppose."

"Not yet." Duncan lifted a brow. "But if things continue as I fear they might, more than money will be required. We'll need armies, the support of every noble in Ferelden. In the meantime, I intend to increase my recruitment efforts throughout Ferelden. To that end, I would appreciate any cooperation that you could give me, in your bannrics and arlings. And teyrnirs."

"Of course," Cailan announced, "the Grey Wardens can count on receiving whatever support you need from Ferelden. That goes without saying." Then he turned toward Rhianna. "Darkspawn. Like something out of the old tales! And you actually saw them. And killed some of them! I would have liked to have been there for that."

Rhianna's brow creased, and her expression darkened. "Don't wish that upon yourself, Your Majesty. I assure you, you do not want to see darkspawn." She caught and held his gaze. "They were the most vile, repulsive, terrifying things I've ever seen in my life. And I've been face to face with werewolves." Cailan's smile faltered when she said that. "I hope I never see another darkspawn as long as I live."

"Lady Cousland is right," Duncan added. "They are vile and dangerous, and I implore you, every one of you, to take seriously this threat. Darkspawn alone are bad enough, but if this truly is the start of a blight, not one among us, nor any citizen of Ferelden, will be safe until they are all defeated."

"You mentioned wanting to look for new recruits," Anora said. "Where do you intend to start?"

"Well," Duncan smiled crookedly, "I started by inviting Lady Cousland to join. Based on her performance against them yesterday, she is exactly the sort of recruit we need."

What? Bryce began to push himself to his feet, determined to quell any suggestion that his daughter be recruited into the Wardens.

But Duncan glanced in his direction, and nodded, adding, "However, I was quickly assured the young lady has no interest in joining the Wardens. So any recommendations any of you can offer, among the knights or members of your various regular armies, will be most appreciated. I intend to travel across Ferelden, as well as to Orzammar. And if I can locate any of the Dalish clans, I hope to recruit Wardens from their numbers, as well."

"Tournaments," Cailan suggested. "We'll sponsor tournaments in all the major cities, so you can travel around and see the local talent for yourself. I will make sure members of the armies, and knights of the realm, even the Templars are invited to participate. I expect you will be inundated with young warriors all wishing to prove themselves worthy of joining the legendary Grey Wardens!"

"That is a generous offer, Your Majesty," Duncan said, inclining his head toward the king. "Thank you."

‹›‹O›‹›

As soon as the audience was adjourned, most of those in attendance began whispering among themselves. Bryce stood and began to cross to where his daughter stood, but before he'd taken two steps, King Cailan appeared at his side.

"Teyrn Bryce, could I have a minute?"

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"There is something I wish to discuss with you. In private. So I was hoping you would agree to dine with me this evening. Here at the palace. Just the two of us."

"This evening?" Bryce glanced over at Rhianna, who was talking to Loghain and Anora. "I had intended to spend the evening with my daughter." Cailan's smile began to slip. "But I expect she can manage without me for one night."

The smile returned. "Excellent! We'll have something to eat, and then perhaps a visit to the Gnawed Noble afterwards? Make a night of it?"

"Whatever you wish, Your Majesty," Bryce agreed.

The king walked away, headed toward the Warden Commander, and Bryce joined his daughter.

"Are you certain you're all right, Pup?" He eyed her carefully, worried there was some injury he just wasn't able to see. "The thought of you fighting darkspawn is, well, it's terrifying."

"I'm fine, Father. I promise. And before you ask, you don't need to worry about the blight sickness, either. Loghain made certain I knew not to let them touch me; that's why I used my bow from a safe distance." She glanced at Loghain, and something in the look they gave one another made Bryce feel even more uncomfortable. There was a warmth there that was unsettling.

"I won't say it wasn't frightening," she continued, "because it was. It was terrifying, but no worse than other things I've been through. And I'm fine, I promise. You don't need to be worried about me."

"All right," he sighed. She did sound convincing, and she certainly looked healthy and unharmed. She looked lovely, in fact. "All right. In any case, let's get you back home."

"Bryce," Loghain said, "before you go, I would like to invite you to dine with me this evening. If you're free."

"Tonight?" Bryce frowned. "I'm sorry. As much as I would like to say yes, I'm afraid I can't. I'm dining with Cailan this evening."

"Of course. Then perhaps I could call on you in the morning?"

"Certainly. You're always welcome at Highever House, Loghain." Turning to Rhianna. "Are you ready, Pup?"

"Just about," she said. To Loghain, "Since Father won't be home this evening, and it appears as though neither you nor I have any prior engagement, perhaps you would like to dine with me? At Highever House? Or anywhere else you like."

Loghain's eyes narrowed as if considering the question. "Yes, but not at Highever House. I have a better idea."

"Where?" she asked.

"I think I'll keep that part a surprise for now."

"A surprise?" A grin slid across Rhianna's face. "All right. I like surprises. As long as I don't have to wait too terribly long to find out what they are."

"You won't have to wait long. I'll call for you later this afternoon. The place I intend to take you . . . well, we'll want to arrive before night falls."

"All right," Rhianna agreed. "I'll be ready."

‹O›

o

‹O›

o

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_NOTE: This chapter was edited to make it comply with Fanfiction dot net's restriction against explicit sexual content. There is a somewhat racier version posted at Archive of Our Own. Should you like to read this "R-rated" version, I've included a link to that chapter on my profile (and will do the same with other such chapters in the future). _

_Many, many thanks to my amazing beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to my wonderful reviewers: __DjinniGenie, Serena R. Snape, KatDancer2, Melysande, Tyrannosaurustex, SwomeeSwan, Milly-finalfantasy, KrystylSky, Seth Motley, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and Dragonmactir. I apologize for late responses to some of your messages; for some reason the website stopped sending most of my alerts over the past couple of weeks. Hopefully that will not continue to be a problem in the future, but I will try and remember to check my inbox here more often. _

‹›‹O›‹›


	62. Nothing else she had ever wanted

_**10 August, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Fort Drakon**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

"So, where are we going?"

One corner of Loghain's mouth twitched, as if he were amused by her impatience. "I told you, it's a surprise. But wear a cloak."

"Ooh! So we'll be outside for a while at least. Do we need our horses?"

"No, we'll go on foot."

As they walked through the front doors of the Highever estate, Rhianna began to speculate. "All right. We're staying in the city then, and we'll be outdoors, some of the time, anyway. Perhaps the waterfront? That would explain the cloak."

"Not the waterfront."

"All right. Well, I can't imagine we're going to the Gnawed Noble, or somewhere like that. At least I hope not. Far too many people there for my liking."

"Mine as well."

"Perhaps we're dining at Gwaren House, then? Although it's so close I'd barely need the cloak."

"Not Gwaren House, either," he laughed. "And you don't need to keep guessing. In about five minutes it will be obvious where I'm taking you."

"I have to wait five whole minutes?" she teased, as she slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow. She wasn't really complaining, though. In truth, she didn't care where they went, so long as it was somewhere they could be alone.

When they left the Highever grounds, Loghain turned up the road that led to the palace.

"Ah ha! Unless we've been invited to the palace, which as far as I know we haven't, then you must be taking me to Fort Drakon." She glanced at him with an impish smile. "Are we to be sparring then? Shall we stop at the palace and ask Jocelyn to join us?"

"I had not planned on sparring. Unless that is what you would prefer to do this evening." The eyebrow he raised at her made her giggle.

"No, I don't have any particular urge to take up arms against you just now."

"Good. Because it occurred to me that the first time we met, you expressed an interest in climbing Fort Drakon. And as many times as we've been there together, not once have I remembered to take you to the very top. Although perhaps you've been there with someone else?"

Her eyes grew wide. "I . . . I can't believe you remember that," she murmured. "Maker's breath, I don't think I've mentioned it since I was, what? Five years old? And you remember?"

"Of course I remember."

She glanced up at him, then looked away. Finally, she spoke. "I haven't been there with anyone else. And I would love to see the view from the top of Fort Drakon." She tightened her hold on his arm, and walked just a bit closer beside him.

‹›‹O›‹›

At the top of the final set of steps, Loghain held open the door, and Rhianna stepped out onto the roof of one of the oldest buildings in Ferelden.

After the fall of the Imperium, the Fort belonged to a series of teyrns, but eventually came under the control of the Arl of Denerim. Now, it also served as the headquarters and training grounds for the royal armies. As commander of those armies, Loghain had access to all areas of the tower.

When they emerged onto the roof, Rhianna rushed to the southern edge of the tower, and climbed onto a ballista to look out at Dragon's Peak and the green smudge of the Brecilian Forest that stretched out beyond.

"Maker's breath, we can see for miles and miles from up here!"

Before Loghain could climb up beside her, she hopped down and took his hand. Together, they strolled along the entire perimeter of the tower, taking turns pointing out landmarks and commenting on the spectacular view.

Finally, they stood at the north edge of the roof and looked out over the city, the docks and Denerim Bay beyond. The sun had just begun to set, and the western sky was streaked light blue that faded into yellow and darkened to orange and finally pink. The ocean sparkled, as flashes of warm color reflected off the surface of the water. A few boats dotted the surface, their sails softly aglow in the fading light. People in the city far below could be seen moving around on the streets, small as ants as they went about their business. Gulls and ravens played in the air currents near the top of the tower, and a peregrine falcon swooped by in greeting.

Loghain rested a hand on Rhianna's shoulder.

"It's so beautiful," she murmured, then wrapped her arm around his waist and continued to look out over the water. He hugged her gently and kissed the top of her head. After a minute, he pulled away.

"Which view is your favorite? From the roof here, I mean?"

She glanced around and considered the question. "This one. Looking out over the bay."

"All right. Wait here a moment." Curious, Rhianna settled down on one of the triangular ledges that jutted out from the roof proper. A few minutes later, Loghain returned with a large basket.

"I thought perhaps we could dine out here, and watch the sunset, if you like?"

"That sounds perfect." A sly grin stole across her lips. "And a picnic explains the need for the cloak."

Loghain spread a blanket on the ledge, and together they laid out their dinner. Rhianna pulled a single, small wine skin out of the basket.

"What, such a small amount for us to share? No chance of anyone getting drunk tonight," she teased.

His cheeks reddened, and she realized that most likely had been his thinking when he asked his cook what to prepare. Immediately, the thought of where the rest of this evening might lead after they'd eaten caused heat to rise in her own cheeks.

Together, they ate and drank, and watched the night approach, watched as the colors grew deeper, more intense: orange the color of flames, pink brighter than any flower. Finally, the sky darkened to purple, and then deep blue as night descended completely.

Stars began to appear one at a time, and when the food was gone, Rhianna moved close, and leaned back against Loghain's chest. He cradled her in his arms while they looked up into the night sky, and she pointed out constellations, Avvarian ones her brother had taught her years ago: Imhar the Clever, Hakkon Wintersbreath. The quintet of dim, reddish stars that made up the Lady of the Skies.

During a lapse in the conversation, as they sat together in a comfortable silence, a shooting star blazed through the sky right in front of them. It flared bright yellow and then died again so quickly, they would have missed it had either of them blinked.

Silently, Rhianna made a wish.

_I wish to marry this man. Please. Let me spend my life with Loghain Mac Tir._

Perhaps it was silly to wish for something she knew was going to happen, but she could think of nothing else she had ever wanted, and so that was what she wished. She closed her eyes and sent the words out into the night sky, and trusted that they'd be heard, by Andraste, or the Maker, or whomever it was that granted such wishes.

She was sorely tempted to ask Loghain what he wished, but forced herself not to; everyone knew if you told your wish, it wouldn't come true.

By the time they'd finished the wine, Rhianna was shivering, in spite of her cloak and the heat from Loghain's body. He pulled her closer as if wanting to share his warmth. Then he leaned down, and spoke softly in her ear.

"Rhianna, I . . . I was wondering . . ."

His voice trailed off, and she peered up at his face. He stared out over the ocean, as though he was nervous, something Rhianna had rarely seen. Loghain was one of the most confident people she had ever known.

"Is something wrong?"

"No." He glanced at her, and then looked away again. "I was just wondering . . . if you'd like to go inside. As commander of the armies, I have a room here, for my own use. I don't use it much, and I've never even spent the night here, not with the Gwaren Estate just up the road. But it is comfortable. And it's getting rather cold out here, so I was wondering if perhaps you would like to . . . move inside"

Inside?

Memories flashed through her mind from that morning. Loghain, leaning above her as she lay on her back on the bed. His hair hanging down, his eyes dark, the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he moved. The heat of his body against hers, the feel of his mouth . . .

"Yes." There was a flutter in her stomach. Excitement, along with something else that might have been fear. But she spoke truthfully. "Yes. I'd like that."

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain led the way to a room on the very top floor of the tower, at the end of a corridor that led off a huge main hall. The furnishings were sparse, with little more than a desk, a few chairs, and a large four-poster bed, but it was richly decorated with a thick Antivan rug underfoot, and dark paneled walls that had the feel of great age. A fire blazed in the hearth, and one wall displayed a collection of swords, as well as a huge tapestry that depicted some historic battle. Rhianna crossed to give it a closer look.

The tapestry featured knights and foot soldiers battling red-faced monsters, the knights all dressed in grey and blue tunics. At the center a lone man - his sword and armor glittering with embroidered silver thread - faced an enormous black dragon outlined in gold.

Loghain tossed more wood on the fire, and then came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders.

Rhianna glanced up at him. "The Battle of Ayesleigh?"

"Yes. The battle that ended the Fourth Blight."

"Then that must be . . ." Her voiced trailed off as she searched her mind for the name. "Garahel, is that his name? The man who defeated the Archdemon Andoral."

"Yes, that's right."

One of the swords hanging nearby caught her eye. It was a massive greatsword, as long as Rhianna was tall, and the firelight glittered all along a blade that appeared wickedly sharp.

"Maker's breath, but that's massive," she said. "I doubt I could lift it, let alone wield it." She stepped closer and ran a finger down the flat of the blade. The metal was cool to the touch.

"I'm sure you're strong enough to lift it, but its use would require some practice," he replied. "It's called the Summer Sword, and was made by Vercenne of Halamshiral, one of the finest swordsmiths in Orlais. It's a pity really, as its remarkable craftsmanship has never been put to proper use."

"What do you mean?"

"I took that sword from the body of an extremely foolish young chevalier, during the battle at Avinash, not long before the end of the Occupation. He had attempted to battle me with the Summer Sword, but clearly had little idea of how to wield it, and I killed him before he'd managed to take even a single proper swing. Later, I learned that he was the son of Lord Aurelian of Montsimmard, a warrior of some renown, who had once won the Grand Tourney of Ansburg. Sadly, little of the father's skill or common sense rubbed off on the son. Aurelian commissioned the sword as a gift, but the lad turned up his nose at it, complaining that two-handed weapons were out of fashion. When I met him on the field, he'd lost his _estoc_ and been separated from his men. He did try to fight me, but desire and pride alone do not give the skill to fight with a weapon one has never swung before. I almost felt bad about killing him. Almost."

"Have you ever used it?"

"No. And I doubt I ever will."

"It seems a shame for it to hang on the wall. It is a beautiful weapon."

"You're welcome to it, if you'd like."

"Me?" She laughed. "Thank you, but no. I'm not sure what I'd do with a weapon as tall as I am."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. You're right, though. Perhaps I will find someone who can use it. It would make an appropriate reward for some outstanding service. It is a beautiful weapon." Then he slid his hands over her shoulders, and reached for the clasp that held her cloak closed at her throat. "Shall I take this from you?"

"Yes, please." She glanced up at him and smiled as he unfastened the clasp, and pulled the cloak from her shoulders. He hung it beside his own, on a hook near the door. Then he made certain the door was latched properly, and turned the key in the lock before returning to her side.

"I've . . . I've instructed the guards downstairs that we are not to be disturbed," he said. "They're to say we are not on the premises if anyone comes looking. Even the king."

She chuckled softly, in spite of her nerves. "Or my father?"

"Or your father. Or the Commander of the Grey." A slight grin played across his lips. "Can I get you something to drink? There's a bottle of wine here somewhere."

"No, thank you." Rhianna moved in front of the fire. She sat on the edge of the hearth and leaned over to warm her hands, which were chilled from the night air. Loghain joined her, sitting close enough that their knees touched. She turned from the fire, and looked up to see him watching her, and the sight of him made her breath catch in her throat.

He was so handsome, as the warm light from the fire played across his features. His eyes glittered, and there was no trace of a smile on his lips now, but he looked relaxed, with no tension along his jaw or in his shoulders. Far more relaxed than she felt.

In truth, she was anxious now they were alone, with the big bed looming at the opposite side of the room. She didn't want him to see just how nervous, though, so she forced herself to breathe slowly, in and out through her nose.

"Rhianna." He sat still, and made no move to touch her, his eyes intent on her face. "Would you like to continue what we were doing this morning, before we were interrupted?"

Oh, Maker. Was this really going to happen?

Of course it was going to happen. And it was what she wanted, truly it was. But she was scared, too. Which was foolish. She hadn't been half this nervous earlier in the day when they'd woken up together, so why was something fluttering in her stomach now, and why could she feel her heart pounding in her chest?

She wanted this. She wanted him to make love to her, right now, tonight. But what if she couldn't figure out how to please him? What if it hurt? She really had no idea what to do, or what to expect. Everything she knew had been gleaned from whispered conversations overheard at salons, mostly things Alysanne wrote to Habren in her letters. Or passages from one of the books kept hidden in a far corner of the library at Highever, describing acts that had made little sense.

What if she did everything all wrong?

But they were here, together. Alone. And the room was comfortable, and Loghain's eyes were warm as he watched her and waited for her to respond. His lips were slightly parted, and she wanted so much to kiss them, and warmth flooded her again, this time not from nerves, but from desire.

She closed her eyes, breathing through all the feelings welling up inside of her. Then, with a deep breath, she opened them again.

"Yes. Please."

He reached for her hand, and pulled her gently toward him, and she moved into his embrace. She pressed her lips to his, and he began to kiss her, so slowly, more tenderly than ever before.

She loved him. She loved him so much, and had loved him for so long, and she wanted this.

One of her hands slid up the back of his neck, and she wound her fingers in his hair as she ran her tongue across his bottom lip, and then into his mouth. A soft sound - half groan, half sigh - left his throat, and he grasped her by the waist and pulled her close, until her body was pressed against his. Then his palms slid up, and across her back, as his tongue met hers and he kissed her even more deeply. She relaxed into him, and her breath sped up as warmth bloomed between her legs.

When the kiss ended, she sat up straighter, panting slightly through her mouth. His eyes were hooded, the lids half closed, and his breath was coming faster, too. He reached up and ran his thumb across her cheekbone, and then cradled her face in his palm.

She had no idea what would come next. She was unsure what to do, how to touch him. All she knew was that she wanted him to kiss her again, wanted him to touch her the way he had touched her that morning. And it seemed likely that getting undressed would be a good place to start.

Rhianna reached behind her, fumbling for the string that laced up the back of her dress. Gently, Loghain grasped her hands, urging them away. Then, with his hands on her shoulders, he turned her to face away from him before he pulled at one of the strings until the bow came undone. He worked to loosen the laces, pulling carefully to one side and then the other with hands that were warm and gentle. Finally, he slid his hands across her shoulders, and then down her arms, pushing the gown along with them. His lips were soft, and his breath warm against her skin as he leaned down to kiss the base of her neck. Her body shivered with pleasure, and her head fell back as a sigh slipped from between her lips.

His mouth trailed along her collarbone, as he freed her arms from the gown, and left it bunched around her waist. His hands moved up, sliding across her breasts, which were still bound in the band she wore to cover them. She arched her back into his touch, fell back against him and let out another small moan from the depths of her throat.

She turned her face toward him, and he caught her lips with his, and they kissed while his hands explored her body. The heat from the fire warmed her skin and Loghain's touched warmed her blood, and it all felt so very, very good. She reached up, and put one hand to the back of his neck, kissed him more deeply and urged him closer.

When the kiss ended, he put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her gently away from him. He stood, and then took her hands and urged her to her feet. When she stood, the dress slipped past her hips, pooling onto the floor. She shivered, in spite of the heat from the fire, and she had to force herself to stand still, not to cross her arms in front of her chest. She felt breathless, and exposed, which was silly. She'd been completely naked yesterday in the bath. But now, Loghain stared at her, his eyes soft as they left her face and trailed downward, and she wondered what he was thinking.

Did he find her appealing? This was the worry she'd had the previous night, the reason she hadn't wanted him to watch her get out of the tub. From his expression now, it was difficult to tell. His eyes narrowed, and there was not even a hint of a smile on his lips. But surely, he found her attractive. Didn't he?

She took a deep breath and stepped out of the dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor, as she stepped out of her shoes at the same time.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the tie that held Loghain's shirt closed at the throat. When the bow had been loosened, she tugged the shirt free from his trousers, and slipped her hands up underneath to feel his skin. Her palms slid across the hard muscles of his belly and his chest, so firm and strong and warm. She wanted to feel him pressed up against her, feel his weight above her, all of his skin touching all of hers. He grasped the hem of the shirt and pulled it over his head, and then tossed it with her dress on the floor. She stepped close, and slid her arms around his waist, reveling in the feel of his body against hers.

She placed a kiss on his chest, and then another, and another. Loghain eased himself away from her, just enough to reach down to unfasten the closure at the waist of his trousers. He pushed them over his hips, and then he put a hand on her shoulder to steady himself while he pulled off his boots and stepped out of the trousers, leaving them on the floor, as well.

More nervous than ever, Rhianna tried to keep from shivering. There was no reason to be nervous. They'd been completely undressed together last night, and nearly so when they'd woken up together this morning. But somehow this felt different, scarier. Not the fact they were unclothed, but that they'd gotten that way solely for the purpose of making love. Bathing together was one thing, but this . . .

A shudder ran through her body, but Rhianna was determined not to let it show. She reached for the waistband of his smallclothes, and tugged them down. Loghain assisted her, shifting his hips until he was freed from that last bit of his clothing.

He was completely naked now, but she kept her eyes on his face, still anxious about seeing him this way. He reached up, and took her face in his hands.

"Is this all right, Rhianna? We don't have to do this. We don't have to do any of this, if you're not sure about it."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she breathed in and out through her mouth. But the look in his eyes was so warm, so sincere. And his voice, that beloved voice, rolled over her, and it soothed her nerves and eased her fears.

"I'm all right. I don't want to stop."

He kissed her then, he held her face between his hands and kissed her, and she felt a shift as she relaxed against him. Her body still trembled, but less from fear and more from anticipation. She did want this. She wanted this so very much.

Loghain reached down to unwrap her breast band, then urged her body away from his so he could free her from the scrap of fabric. As it slipped from his hands to the floor, he took in a sharp breath, and made a sound deep in his throat, a rumbling growl that made her breath come even faster. Something about his expression frightened her, and she fought the urge to cover herself with her hands. She had never seen him so intense, his breath so ragged. Except perhaps that day on the beach at Sarim's Point.

Oh. Sarim's Point. She'd thought he was disgusted by her that day. Did that mean he didn't find her pleasing to look at now? Or did that mean he really had wanted to kiss her, perhaps do more than just kiss, that day on the beach?

With bent legs, Loghain reached one arm behind her back, and another below her knees, and lifted her off the ground. He carried her to the bed, and laid her on top of the bedclothes. Then he climbed up beside her, and grasped the waistband of her smalls. In an instant, he pulled them down and off and tossed them aside.

Her breath came quickly now as she lay on her back, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Loghain gazed down at her, and again she could not gauge his mood, but that hardly mattered, so overwhelmed was she with her own feelings, the physical sensations as well as the thoughts racing through her mind.

She loved him. She loved him so much, and now they were here together, and he'd promised no one would disturb them, and he was going to make love her, and she was scared, terrified even, but she wanted this. She wanted him. She wanted him so much, and she had wanted him for so long, and she was ready, truly.

And now, he was just staring at her, his hair hanging down and his eyes dark and hooded, and she didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to touch him, what to do with her hands, or her body, or her mouth, and suddenly she felt like crying, so she said the only word that came into her mind.

"Please."

He closed his eyes, and for a moment his lips parted, and he looked almost wounded, but then he leaned down and kissed her again on the lips, so gently. She reached up and grasped his arm, and kissed him back, her body humming.

He eased himself down beside her, and explored her body with one hand: the curve of her shoulder, down her side and over her hip, the swell of her belly. When he turned his head, his breath was warm against her ear.

"I want you, Rhianna."

"Yes," she breathed. "Oh, yes. Please."

Loghain kissed her again, gently at first, but soon with more fervor, as though he couldn't get enough of her, and she finally understood. That expression - so intense, almost unhappy - it wasn't because he didn't want her, but because he wanted her so very much.

‹›‹O›‹›

Loghain lay on his back, with Rhianna curled up against his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, and she clung to his shoulder and slung one leg across his body, and they lay like that in silence for several minutes. She felt warm, and cherished, almost overwhelmed but completely satisfied. Loved, somewhat sore, and so very happy.

When his breath slowed, Loghain propped himself up on one elbow. He smiled at her, and every doubt she'd ever had fled from her mind. His expression shone with satisfaction, with happiness. With love. Even if he hadn't said it, even if he never said it, she knew. He loved her. And she loved him, too. So very much.

He trailed his fingers along the side of her face. "Are you all right, love? Did I hurt you?"

"I'm all right." She chuckled, the sound coming from deep in her chest. "That was . . . it felt so good. I never knew anything could feel like that." She bit her lower lip. "And it did hurt, a bit, just at the very end, but I didn't mind."

She leaned forward and kissed him deeply, and felt him surrender himself to her. After the kiss, he rolled onto his back, and again she fit herself against him, as if they had been made to be together like this.

"We mustn't fall asleep," he murmured. "I doubt your father would appreciate me failing to bring you home two nights in a row."

"I suspect you're right about that," she said, although she felt a stab of disappointment. She could imagine nothing better than drifting to sleep in his arms.

But neither of them slept. They spoke in quiet tones, and soon their hand began to explore one another with gentle touches and no urgency. From time to time, they kissed.

After a while, Rhianna pulled herself up and leaned over him. Her hair fell around her face and hung down to brush against his chest.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He chuckled. "Thank you? For what?"

"For making love to me. For being so gentle with me, and so kind. Always." She shrugged. "For being you."

He reached up and stroked her cheek. "I'm not gentle. Nor kind. Just ask anyone."

"Yes, you are. And not just with me. I've seen it other times as well. You just don't suffer fools."

"Perhaps you're right." His eyes studied her face. "So . . . did you enjoy yourself?"

"Enjoy myself?" Soft laughter erupted from deep within her. "Yes. I enjoyed myself. It was . . . wonderful. Better than anything I could ever have imagined." Her smile faltered, just a bit. "What about you? Did you . . . did I do it right?"

He laughed, and shook his head as if with disbelief. "Yes, Rhia. You did it right. You were . . . perfect."

Her cheeks grew warm and her smile returned. "Good." She chewed at her bottom lip. "I do have a question for you, though."

"What?"

"Might we do it again? Tonight?"

His brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I'll be able to manage . . ." His voice trailed off as she reached down and touched him. She curled her fingers around him, and immediately he responded to her touch.

"On second thought," he said, his voice ragged, "if that's what you want, then yes. We can do it again."

‹›‹O›‹›

It was past midnight when Loghain walked Rhianna home, with a promise to see her in the morning. When she let herself into the house, everything was dark and quiet, and she assumed the household had all gone to bed. As she passed the library, however, she noticed a single candle burning at her father's desk.

That was unusual. He was generally very cautious about such things.

She pulled her cloak from her shoulders as she crossed the room to put out the candle.

"Pup?" She spun around. Her father sat in a chair in a dark corner of the room.

"Father?" She laughed, nervously. "You startled me."

She picked up the candle and moved closer to him. Setting the light on a table, she settled herself on the sofa. "What are you doing, sitting here in the dark?"

"Nothing." His voice sounded tired. "Just thinking." He paused. "Did you have a good evening?"

"Oh, yes. It was lovely."

"So, where did Loghain take you for your 'surprise?'"

"We climbed to the top of Fort Drakon. Can you believe in all these years, all the times we've practiced there, I'd never once remembered to ask if he could take me up to the top so I could see the view?"

"I take it he came up with that idea himself? He does know you well, doesn't he? But what did you do for dinner?"

"We had a picnic, up on the roof, while we watched the sun set. It was really beautiful - all the colors in the sky, and glittering on the water. It was almost as pretty as sunsets in Highever. Almost. And then we watched the stars come out. We even saw a shooting star, the first I've ever seen."

"Did you make a wish?"

"Of course."

He let out a breath. "The sun set hours ago, Pup. What have the two of you been doing all this time?"

"Oh, you know Loghain and I," she replied. "We never run out of things to talk about. So what about your evening? Did you enjoy dining with the king?"

"My evening was . . . fine."

"Well?"

"Well?" He sounded confused.

"What was it Cailan wanted to talk to you about?"

"Oh, that." Bryce hesitated. "Nothing you need worry about, Pup. He did say he plans to pay us a visit soon, in Highever. Sometime next month."

"Will Anora be coming with him?"

"I don't think so. He said something about Bann Teagan."

"Oh, that will be nice. I like Bann Teagan. He's a very kind man. And friendly, and funny. He reminds me of you, a bit, come to think of it. Maybe that's why I like him so much."

Bryce chuckled softly. "I'm sure you'll enjoy their visit then." He pushed himself up out of his chair. "Well, I suppose I should get bed. As should you." He paused. "Are we still expecting Loghain to stop by in the morning?"

"Yes."

She got to her feet, and retrieved the candle from the table, to light their way upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, they paused before going to their respective bedrooms.

"Good night, Pup." He sounded exhausted.

"Good night, Father." Holding the candle carefully away from him, she hugged him with one arm, and kissed him on the cheek. "Sleep well."

"You, too, Pup. And . . . sweet dreams."

‹O›

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_As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, as well as to my lovely reviewers: Rena Hawke, Dragonmactir, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Milly-finalfantasy, SwomeeSwan, GLCW2, KatDancer2, DjinnieGenie, KrystylSky and a Guest._

_Once again, this chapter was edited to make it comply with Fanfiction dot net's restriction against explicit sexual content. Should you like to read the explicit version posted at Archive of Our Own, you'll find a link to it on my profile._

‹›‹O›‹›


	63. The sort of man who could make her happy

_**11 August, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Highever Estate, Denerim**__**  
**_

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After breakfast, Bryce and Rhianna both settled in the library. Rhianna appeared to be perusing a book, but something about the way she continually looked up, as though she expected to hear a noise - someone coming up the walk, or a knock at the door - led Bryce to believe she wasn't really reading at all.

For his part, Bryce had completely given up trying to get through the pile of correspondence that remained on his desk. It needed his attention, some of it desperately, but he didn't have the ability concentrate at the moment. So he'd pack it all up and bring it along when they left the city, which he intended to do soon. Today, in all likelihood. Although he'd yet to decide whether to go to Amaranthine as planned, or if taking Rhianna back to Highever in person would be best. He suspected he would end up doing the latter, the mess in Amaranthine be damned.

Hobbes appeared in the doorway. "Excuse me, Your Grace, but someone is here to see you."

A weight settled in Bryce's stomach. "Teyrn Loghain, I assume?"

"Yes, ser."

"Please show him in."

Rhianna stood and crossed the room, to wait near the door. When Loghain entered she smiled and stepped close, as though she wanted to embrace him, but she stopped herself before they actually touched.

"Good morning, Loghain." Her smile warmed her eyes and lit up her face.

Bryce felt vaguely nauseous.

"Good morning, Rhianna. And you, as well, Bryce."

"Loghain." Bryce nodded, then gestured toward the sofa. "Please, have a seat." He turned to his daughter. "Rhianna, go upstairs. To your room."

She hesitated a moment, as though she intended to argue, but then she nodded. She smiled again at Loghain, and left the room.

Bryce stepped close to the door, and listened to her climb the stairs. Once the hinges of her bedroom door creaked shut, he closed the door to the library, startled a bit by the metallic click of the latch falling into place.

"I know it's early," Bryce said, "but can I offer you anything to drink?"

Loghain settled himself on the sofa. "No thank you."

Bryce sat in a nearby chair. "So, what brings you here this morning? I take it there is something in particular you wish to speak with me about?"

Loghain raised a brow. It was somewhat less than polite for Bryce to have asked that question so abruptly, rather than exchanging pleasantries for a few minutes. But Loghain seemed to take it in stride. "Yes. It's about Rhianna." he paused. "I'm here to ask for her hand. In marriage."

Bryce struggled to keep his expression neutral; after all, he had expected this, even as he'd hoped otherwise. Hoped that Loghain merely wished to discuss some political matter - the situation in the Alienage, or a follow up on that business with Ser Greta and the Restorationists. But it appeared that Howe's suspicions were correct.

Maker's balls. How had he not seen this sooner? Rhianna was his daughter, and surely he knew her nearly as well as anyone could know another person. But he'd seen no sign, not even after Howe suggested it and Bryce had begun to pay closer attention. There was nothing that looked different from the way Loghain and Rhianna had acted with one another for years. Not until the previous day when Loghain had approached him after the audience with the Grey Warden.

Although, when Bryce was being honest with himself, he could see it was just blindness - and perhaps a bit of stupidity - that kept him in the dark. Perhaps even willful ignorance. After all, for years, he had felt vaguely uncomfortable about Rhianna's relationship with Loghain, but there had never been anything solid to put his finger upon.

Or perhaps the signs had been there, and Bryce was merely too distracted to see them, what with the trouble in Amaranthine. How Rhianna embraced Loghain on the day they arrived in Denerim. Riding double with him coming back from Dragon's Peak. The way they danced at Bann Nicola's ball.

And then last night. When Bryce returned to the Highever estate, Rhianna was not yet home from her dinner with Loghain. As Bryce had waited in the dark, he'd been hit by a growing certainly that Howe was right: there was something between Rhianna and Loghain. And now he was here, asking for something Bryce absolutely could not allow. Not now, not ever.

He needed to respond, but couldn't quite come up with words.

Loghain seemed not to notice Bryce's hesitation. "I know she is not yet of age, and of course I would be happy to wait until she turns eighteen, if you and Eleanor would prefer. Although I am not averse to having the ceremony before her birthday, if that is agreeable to everyone."

Maker's balls. He couldn't listen to any more of this. He needed to put an end to it, and now.

"No."

Loghain blinked, and a crease formed across his brow. "I'm sorry? No, what? You don't want her to marry before her birthday? Or there's no reason to wait?"

"What I'm saying is no. I will not agree to a marriage between you and my daughter."

Loghain went still for the space of two breaths. "Perhaps you don't understand, Bryce. I'm not asking this just for my own sake. This is what Rhianna wants. Call her back downstairs if you have any doubt."

"I don't have to ask her. I don't doubt this is what she thinks she wants," Bryce said carefully. "But it's not what I want for her."

"Why not?"

Bryce hesitated. "There are a number of reasons."

"What reasons?"

Damn. Of course Loghain would demand an answer to that question. As would Rhianna a short time from now . . .

Blessed Andraste, what of Rhianna? If Loghain was telling the truth - and Bryce had no reason to doubt he was - she would be devastated. Even so, Bryce could not agree to this marriage. For all the reasons he was willing to share, and one he absolutely could not mention. Not to anyone.

Not yet.

"Bryce, please. What reasons?"

Loghain's face looked no different than usual - unsmiling and aloof - but there was tension in his jaw, and an intensity in his eyes that had not been there before.

"Loghain, are you sure you want to get into all of this?"

"Of course I'm sure. Do you think I would be here if I took this matter lightly?" He let out a breath. "I realize I have no claim on Rhianna. I've never spoken to you about this, even though Maric suggested more than once I should make an arrangement with you well before she came of age. But I was determined I would only marry her if I knew it was what she wanted. And that was something I couldn't discover until she was grown. But now she is grown, and this is what she wants. So just tell me what's troubling you, and I can reassure you about whatever it is. I care for your daughter, Bryce. I hope you know that."

"Of course. I do know it. I've known it for years, only I never expected it to take this sort of a turn."

"Honestly, neither did I." His eyes narrowed. "Have you already made an arrangement for her with someone else? She isn't aware of that having happened, but perhaps you hadn't told her yet? Surely, it's not too late for a betrothal to be nullified."

"There is no betrothal." A statement that was still the literal truth. "That isn't the problem."

"Then what is?"

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, muddling his thoughts and making his shoulders stoop, slightly. He did not have the energy for this discussion. But neither could it be avoided. No doubt Loghain would be unwilling to leave without some answer to his question.

Bryce ran a hand across his face. "It's you, Loghain."

"Me?" Loghain's voice was still calm, but slightly strained. "That makes no sense, Bryce. I'm the Teyrn of Gwaren. There isn't a better political match in all of Ferelden for your daughter. Nor, for that matter, is there any man in this country worthy of her, myself included. But she wants to marry me. I can't see any way in which this isn't a good arrangement for your family."

"It's not about politics, Loghain. And I know Rhianna is fond of you. She always has been. I expect she even fancies herself in love with you, because she has that sort of generous heart. But she is lively, and cheerful, and compassionate, and I don't want to see her end up in a marriage that will crush her spirit."

"Crush her spirit?"

"Yes." Bryce took a deep breath. He had intended these next words as a smokescreen to obscure the real reason he could not agree to this marriage. But now he realized they were true. "I'm sorry, but I don't believe you are the sort of man who could make Rhianna happy."

Loghain's eyes narrowed. "And just what 'sort' of man am I, Bryce?"

How to answer that question? Because Loghain wasn't a bad man. He was brave and courageous, worthy of the status of national hero. Even so, regardless of anything else, Bryce would not have wanted Rhianna to marry Loghain Mac Tir. The very qualities that made him so valuable to Ferelden were the things that made him an unsuitable husband, especially for a girl like Rhianna.

Too many times over the years she had been injured or nearly killed while in Loghain's company. He was rough with her during weapons practice, abusive even, cursing at her and striking her with more force than seemed reasonable. There was also the scene Bryce witnessed the day after Maric's wake - when Loghain grabbed Rhianna and shook her by the shoulders - and not long afterwards, Eleanor had glimpsed bruises on the girl's arms. And of course, the single clearest memory in Bryce's head: when he'd come looking for them on the day of the royal wedding, and found Rhianna, her dress unbuttoned and tears streaming down her face, in Loghain's lap with his dagger at her throat. Bryce knew - he _knew_ - it wasn't fair to hold that against Loghain. It hadn't been as it appeared, not at all. But the nausea in his stomach, the dread and rage he'd felt . . . Bryce simply could not forget.

In addition to everything else, Howe's suggestion had festered in the back of Bryce's mind since the night of Nicola's ball. Could Loghain have locked Rhianna away in the guard tower? It had seemed ludicrous at first, but now? If marrying Rhianna had been Loghain's intention all along, perhaps there was something to it. How else had he found her so easily? The tower was far from anywhere Rhianna would have been likely to go. Certainly Bryce himself would never have thought to look there.

No. Loghain was unsuitable, as a companion and certainly as a husband. Bryce should have done something years ago, forbidden them from spending time together. Not doing so had been a mistake. And now was the time to fix it.

"You aren't an . . . easy man, Loghain. Nor a gentle one. I understand the reasons for it. The Occupation damaged all of us, in various ways, and we all saw things and did things that can never be forgotten. But your past is dark. Darker than most."

Loghain leaned forward. "You can't seriously hold against me things done during the Rebellion. Things done to ensure Maric could retake the throne that was rightfully his. Everything I did – _everything_ – was done for Ferelden. Would you rather be speaking Orlesian now? Or be dead?"

"I'm not saying what you did back then was wrong. There were things that needed to be done, like killing those men in the Chantry, and running Ser Donnall through when he threatened to betray Maric." Bryce ran a hand across his face, not entirely sure he meant what he was saying. He had to say it, though. He had to make Loghain believe it, had to find a way to believe it himself. "But whether or not those things were necessary doesn't change the fact that it takes a certain sort of man to do them. Someone violent, and ruthless."

"That was years ago, Bryce. A lifetime ago. How can you possibly think I would ever do anything to harm Rhianna, or allow her to be harmed because of me? Have I not proven that, time and time again? Who pulled her out of that guard tower? Who saved her from the werewolves? Who stood with her when she was attacked by poachers in your woods?"

"I haven't forgotten, Loghain. But I also remember the injuries she's sustained while in your company. When you were attacked by Empress Celene's assassins, for example. And I can't help but wonder if she might have avoided some of those dangerous situations you've pulled her out of, if she hadn't been with you in the first place."

Deep creases formed across Loghain's brow, but before he could respond, Bryce continued. "You're a dangerous man, a man who attracts trouble. Certainly Maric needed a man like you, and Ferelden is better off because of it. But you are not the sort of man I want as a husband for my daughter. And even if it's not some physical harm that comes to her, what would the future hold? Would she be abandoned in Gwaren, like Celia was?"

Anger flashed through Loghain's eyes at the mention of his dead wife, but was quickly replaced by something else. Pain. Grief, or guilt perhaps.

"That is not my intention. I swear it. Bryce, you have to believe I would do everything in my power to make Rhianna happy." His voice caught on the last word, and his fists were clenched, but now his rage seemed to be directed inward.

An interesting response. Did Loghain himself have doubts about his ability to be a good husband to Rhianna? It appeared as though he did.

"I'm sure you believe that," Bryce replied. "But I am not sure you are capable of it. I've seen the way you are with her."

"The way I . . . what?" Loghain's eyes grew wide. "What in the Void are you talking about?"

Probably best not to admit he'd been watching them that day when Loghain had grabbed her and shook her, out in the garden. "When you spar together. Just the other day I watched you break several of her ribs."

Loghain's face went pale, drained of blood, and his mouth hung open in what Bryce assumed was astonishment. He closed his eyes for a moment, and brought his lips together. Opening his eyes again, he spoke.

"You can't honestly believe I would ever deliberately harm Rhianna. That was training, training her to be able to defend herself. Which she has done, several times. Maker's blood!" He slammed a balled fist on the sofa cushion. "She might be dead now, without that training. If she couldn't have fought off those poachers, or the darkspawn, or Vaughan Kendalls."

"Vaughan Kendalls? When did Rhianna fight Vaughan Kendalls?"

Loghain's eyes widened, and then his expression tightened as he turned his face away.

Maker's balls. Loghain knew something. Something Bryce didn't. And whatever it was, Loghain realized he should not have mentioned it.

"Loghain. When did Rhianna fight Vaughan?"

He let out a ragged breath. "It was the night of Maric's wake. When Rhianna was out in the garden by herself, Vaughan attacked her. He pulled her into the trees and tried to . . . tried to rape her. But she fought him off. By herself. Do you think she could have done that if she hadn't spent so much time learning to defend herself? If I hadn't trained her to defend herself?"

Bryce didn't answer Loghain's last question. He was still stuck on this revelation that Vaughan Kendalls had tried to rape his daughter, and Bryce had known nothing about it.

"Who else knows about this?"

"Fergus, and Oriana. And Anora. She's the one who asked me to go looking for Rhianna. She'd seen the girl go out into the garden, and Vaughan go out not long after. I found Rhianna only after she'd managed to get away from him. She was scared, but mostly unharmed." Loghain paused, taking a deep breath. "I suggested she tell you and Eleanor, but she was so upset, I think she feared what you might do if you found out what had happened. Afraid of what you might do to Vaughan if you knew."

The night of Maric's wake? Something _had _happened that night.

"That was the night Vaughan was beaten, and almost killed." Bryce fixed Loghain with a furious stare. "Did you do that to him?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Fergus and I. And Dane. We went after Vaughan, to make certain he would stay away from Rhianna in the future. Fergus suggested it, but it's not as though I hadn't already come up with the idea."

Bryce stood and strode to the far side of the room, desperate to move, to find an outlet for the anger that coursed through him.

Rhianna had been attacked and nearly raped, and both of his children, along with his daughter-in-law, had conspired to keep the knowledge from him. And Loghain had known. Not only had he known, but he took action against Vaughan.

And Fergus? His son had beaten Vaughan Kendalls within an inch of his life. What if Vaughan had fought back, or sent the guard after Fergus? What if Vaughan had hurt, or even killed, Rhianna?

This was unbelievable. Utterly unbelievable. And all of it had happened right under Bryce's nose, and he'd never suspected a thing.

No. That's not true. He had suspected something was amiss on the day after the wake. Fergus and Rhianna both behaved strangely. And Loghain had yelled at her in the Highever garden.

Andraste's arse, why yell at her after she had been brutally attacked? Surely, on that day especially she had deserved to be treated even more gently than usual. Had Loghain been angry with her for letting Vaughan get near? Had he already been thinking about this day, the day when he would try and convince Bryce to hand her over in marriage?

No.

There was absolutely no way that was going to happen. Even if there weren't already a dozen other reasons to reject Loghain's proposal, this trumped them all. Rhianna had been attacked, and Loghain knew. He helped cover it up and encouraged Fergus to go out in the middle of the night and exact vengeance.

Loghain had overstepped boundaries for years. And it was time for that to stop.

Before he could speak, Loghain crossed the room to stand near Bryce.

"All these things, you make it sound as though I'm the reason Rhianna was ever in danger. That's not my fault, Bryce. None of it. We live in a dangerous world. You know that as well as I do. Was it my fault poachers came to the Coastlands? My fault Vaughan thought he could trap her in marriage if he forced himself on her? Was I the one who locked her away in that tower? I am not responsible for those things. Don't you want Rhianna to be safe? Wouldn't you rather have her married to a man you know will be able to protect her, because I've done it, time and time again?"

Bryce met Loghain's gaze. "Perhaps she might not have required quite so much 'protecting' without your influence."

"Damn it!" Loghain's anger now did seem to be turned outward. "What do I have to say to get you to understand how much this means? Not just to me, but to Rhianna? Yes, you're her father, but she's a woman now. Don't you think she should be given some say?"

"She's what?" Bryce glared at the taller man. "A woman now? Just what is that supposed to mean?" His stomach lurched. "Did you lay with my daughter in some roadside inn in the Bannorn?"

Loghain's face grew tight. "No, I did not."

For a moment, the two men glared at one another. Loghain was furious, clearly, but he looked sincere, and he'd never been a particularly adept liar. Or perhaps it was just that Bryce wanted so much to believe nothing physical had happened between the two of them. It was unfathomable that Rhianna would have taken Loghain - taken anyone - as her lover. Even if Bryce didn't trust Loghain entirely, he trusted his own daughter not to have shown such spectacularly bad judgment.

"Bryce, please." Loghain's voice was quiet now, as though he realized yelling wasn't going to help. If anything, yelling only proved what Bryce was saying: Loghain was a violent and dangerous man, not to be trusted with an innocent young woman like Rhianna. "I won't say you're wrong in some of the things you are thinking. I have done a great many things in my life I regret. But this . . . this is different. Rhianna is precious to me. You have to believe that."

Of course he believed it. The thought of Rhianna being less than precious to anyone was vaguely ridiculous. Rhianna was the most genuinely kind and lovely person Bryce had ever known. Of course Loghain would want to marry her, as did half the men in Ferelden. Which also explained why Bryce hadn't been taken completely by surprise with what Cailan had to say, when they'd dined together the previous evening. As it so happened, that conversation had come at the perfect time. Just one more reason to deny Loghain's request.

No. Bryce's mind was made up. Rhianna would not marry Loghain. This was the right decision, from every possible angle.

"I do believe you are fond of her, Loghain-"

"Then please," Loghain interjected, his eyes bright and his voice earnest, "Say you'll give Rhianna and I permission to wed."

"The answer is no, Loghain. You will not marry my daughter."

Loghain's lips tightened, and he looked down at the floor for a minute, as if he might find a response there. When he looked up again, Bryce held his gaze, unflinching, and finally Loghain looked away, as if he had realized, had seen in Bryce's eyes, there was no argument that would change his mind.

"May I speak to her, at least?"

"No." Bryce was firm. "You know as well as I do that would be a bad idea. Rhianna is headstrong, and will fight for what she thinks she wants. If she sees you, talks to you, it will only make it more difficult for her. Now, if you don't mind, I have to ask you to leave. I need to speak to my daughter."

"Bryce, please . . . Please don't do this. Rhianna-"

"She is my daughter, and this is my decision," Bryce said, his voice harsh. "There is nothing more for you and I to discuss."

Loghain stared at Bryce, and Bryce felt a trickle of fear at the look in the other man's eyes. It was dark, and cold, and for a moment, Bryce wondered if this would come to blows.

Then, without another word, Loghain turned and stalked out of the room.

Bryce moved to a chair, just in time to collapse backwards into it as his legs refused to hold him upright any longer.

Blessed Andraste. What had he just done? It was the right decision, it had to be. But that didn't change the fact it felt awful.

And it was about to get worse. Much, much worse, when he broke this news to Rhianna. If she was truly in love with Loghain, she would be miserable.

What if this was a mistake? Loghain hadn't been entirely wrong in suggesting Rhianna should have some say in who she married. Bryce believed the decision he'd made last night would make her happy, in the long run. But what if he was wrong? What if she really would be happiest with Loghain? And how much did her personal happiness weigh against her duty as a Cousland?

If only Eleanor were here, so they could have done this together. But she wasn't, and Bryce had given his word, and now he needed to go upstairs and speak with Rhianna. And probably break her heart.

It was several minutes before Bryce trusted his legs to hold him, and trusted himself to be able to string words together into proper sentences. But finally, he pulled himself out of the chair and climbed the stairs.

He walked slowly, each step a battle as he dreaded what he was about to do. It was best, though. Best for everyone. And a month from now, when she'd had time away from Loghain and time to settle down about the whole situation, Cailan and Teagan would arrive in Highever, and Rhianna would understand what an amazing opportunity this was for her.

Bryce knocked on her door, then pushed it open before waiting for a response.

Rhianna sat on her bed, her back against the headboard. A book was in her hands, but he doubted she had been reading. Dane was curled up beside her, and they both watched as he entered the room. Bryce crossed to a chair, and sat.

Rhianna was smiling, but it looked a bit forced. Probably, she had heard raised voices. "Father? Did you speak to Loghain?"

"Yes." He took one breath and then another and found he didn't know what words to say next.

"Well? Where is he?" Her eyes looked worried now.

"He's gone home," Bryce said. Damn it. He needed to just come out and say it. It was cruel to let it drag out like this.

"Home? I don't understand. He told you we want to get married, right?"

"Yes, Pup. He told me."

"Well? Aren't you happy for us?"

He struggled to keep a grimace from crossing his face. "No, Rhianna. I'm sorry, but I told him no."

Rhianna sat up, her eyes wider than he could ever remember seeing them before. "What? What do you mean, you told him no?" She shook her head. "Father, you don't understand. This isn't some political thing he's trying to force on me. I want to marry him. Didn't he tell you that? I . . . I love him. We're _going_ to be married."

"No, Pup. I'm afraid I can't allow that to happen." She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued. "I know you have feelings for him. You've known him a long time, and I can see now the way your mother and I allowed that relationship to continue was a mistake. He is not the right man to be your husband, and I don't believe he could make you happy."

"That's ridiculous. Of course he'll make me happy! He _does _make me happy!" Rhianna looked panicked now, scooting to the edge of the bed, where she perched, leaning forward as if she could convince him by her physical proximity. "He has made me so happy, again and again, so many times over the years. Everything he does, everything he is. This is what I want."

"No." He took a breath. "Rhianna, there are things you don't understand about him."

"Things _I _don't understand? Then explain them to me." Her voice was hard now, and angry. "Explain to me why you think marrying Loghain would be such a bad idea. He's good man. A hero, and one of the most powerful men in all of Thedas. This is the best possible match I could have made with anyone in Ferelden. The fact that we love one another, that we want to be together, should only make it easier for you to agree." Her eyes narrowed. "There's someone else, isn't there? You've made an arrangement to marry me off to someone else. And it can't be anyone here, because there is no one in Ferelden who would be a better match. Are you sending me away?" Her voice sounded childish, desperate, scared. "Out of the country? To Antiva, or the Free Marches, or . . . or Orlais? Are you going to force me to leave Ferelden?"

"Rhianna-"

"You promised. So many times you promised you wouldn't force me to marry someone I didn't want to marry. And I'm telling you now, whoever it is you think I should marry, I don't want him. I have never wanted anyone other than Loghain!"

A tear fell from one of her eyes, and traveled slowly down her cheek. Her breath was ragged now, as though she struggled not to break down into sobs.

"You're not being sent away, Pup. I promise. Your mother and I never even considered a foreign husband for you. We know how much you love Ferelden, and would never force you to leave."

She nodded, breathing out as though relieved by this bit of news, at least. "Then why? Has Loghain done something to make you angry?"

Then she did begin to sob, and another tear fell, and Bryce thought his heart would break. He wanted to rush to her side, to pull her into his arms and tell her everything would be all right. To promise whatever she wanted. It had always been difficult to say no to her, especially since she so rarely had asked for things that weren't easy to give. And it would be easy, so easy to let the words slide off his tongue. The words that would bring the smile back to her face, drive the fear from her eyes. To tell her she could marry Loghain.

It would be so easy to make his daughter happy . . .

But he stopped himself, and took a deep breath, and released it. He couldn't. He couldn't say those words. Even if they made her happy now, in the long run she would come to regret them. And he'd made a promise to the king. One did not blithely break promises made to one's king.

"There are things about Loghain you don't know, Pup." Bryce paused. "He's . . . he's a violent man."

"In the past, perhaps. I do know some of the things he's done. But he's not violent by nature. He's only ever done things he had to do, to keep other people safe. You can't possibly think he would ever do anything to hurt me."

"Not intentionally . . . perhaps," Rhianna's eyes flashed angrily at the word "perhaps." "But you've been in danger too many times, injured even, because of your relationship with him. I should have stopped the two of you from seeing one another years ago, I see that now. The truth is he is a dangerous man, and I will not give my permission for the two of you to wed."

"The truth? The truth is he loves me, and would never do anything to hurt me. The truth is he makes me happy!" More tears slid down her cheeks. "Why are you doing this? Why are you saying these things? This is the only thing I've ever really wanted in my entire life: to be with Loghain. I don't understand why you're saying no!"

She put her face in her hands and sobbed.

Dane, who had quietly watched all this time, crawled up beside her. He nudged at her with his head, and she wrapped her arms around him, and sobbed into the fur on his neck.

Bryce felt heat behind his own eyes, and fought against it desperately. This was the lowest moment of his entire life. He had just broken his daughter's heart, the person he loved as deeply as anyone else in the entire world.

"I know you won't believe this right now, Rhianna, but I'm only doing what is best for you. For your future. You will understand that, someday soon. I promise. Until then, you just need to accept that this is the way things are."

Rhianna raised her head and glared at him. Never before had he seen a look like that on his daughter's face, a look of pure rage, and for a moment, he was frightened of her, of her intensity, an intensity he hadn't known she possessed.

"No. I won't accept this. I will never accept this, and I _will _marry him! I swear to you, you will never be able to force to marry someone else. I'll be eighteen soon, and it won't be your decision any longer. Loghain Mac Tir will be my husband, no matter what you say!"

Then, she curled up against Dane again. The mabari was watching him, eyes filled with disappointment. Even the damned dog was on Loghain's side.

"Start packing your things." Bryce stood, and crossed to the door. "We're leaving for Highever."

She looked up. "What? When?"

"Right now. This morning, as soon as we can get packed."

"No." Her voice had a pleading note in it. "No, I have to see him first. I can't just leave. Not like this. Please, Father. You have to let me talk to him."

"Absolutely not," he said, as he turned to leave the room. "I'll send one of the servants to help you pack." And make sure she didn't escape through the window.

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

When her father was gone, Rhianna hurried to her desk, pulled out a sheet of parchment and started to write.

Tears dropped onto the page and blurred the ink in the places where they fell, but she didn't care. She just kept writing until the letter was finished.

Then she called to Gwyn, and tied the letter to one of the hawk's legs, and sent her on her way.

‹›‹O›‹›

_Dearest Loghain, _

_I don't know why Father is doing this, but please know I don't care what he says. This doesn't change anything. You and I will be together, I promise. Father and I are leaving for Highever this morning, and I don't see how I can avoid going back, but when I get home, I'll get Mother to convince him to see reason. And if she can't, then we'll just wait. I'll be eighteen in less than a year, and we can get married regardless with or without his permission. If you don't want to wait, we'll go to Starkhaven, where I'm old enough now to get married even without his consent. _

_I love you. And no matter what Father says, I know you love me, as well. We belong together. I know this in my heart. Please, Loghain, write back and tell me you'll wait for me. Better yet, let me know when you'll come for me, and I'll be ready to go with you to the Free Marches._

_With all my love, _

_Rhianna_

‹O›

o

‹O›

o

‹O›

_Many, many thanks to my fabulous beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to my lovely and faithful reviewers: KrystylSky, KatDancer2, Milly-finalfantasy, SwomeeSwan, kateskates24, Cotton Strings, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and Dragonmactir. (Even though all of you probably HATE me right now. I don't blame you. I kind of hate myself after writing this chapter. I recommend re-reading Chapter 62, and forgetting that this chapter even exists. I really am so, so sorry)._

_I've stolen the idea of going to Starkhaven for a "runaway wedding" from a bit of Scottish history. Once upon a time, the age limit for marriage was lower there than it was in England, so it was common for young couples to cross the border just as far as the town of Gretna Green, and be married, often by the town's blacksmith._

‹›‹O›‹›


	64. I believe that's checkmate

_**16 Kingsway, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Highever Castle**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna didn't come down for breakfast.

It was hardly the first time this had happened during the past month, but Eleanor was worried. Today of all days, it would not do for Rhianna to fall into one of the dark places she had so often fallen of late. Cailan and Bann Teagan were expected to arrive for their "hunting trip," and Rhianna would have to be gracious - more than gracious - whether she felt up to it or not.

Damn them. Maker damn them all.

No matter how many times Bryce tried to convince her this was best for Rhianna, Eleanor was unable to believe it. And seeing her daughter so heartbroken was one of the worst things Eleanor had ever experienced. In truth, she feared for Rhianna's health now almost as much as when she'd nearly died from the plague.

A month ago, when Bryce and Rhianna had returned from Denerim, Rhianna had arrived first, well ahead of her father, and immediately sought Eleanor out, more upset than Eleanor had ever before seen her. The girl had thrown herself in her mother's arms, sobbing, and it had taken several minutes for Rhianna to calm herself enough to speak.

"You've got to talk to Father!" Rhianna sounded desperate, her eyes wild and her hair coming out of a sloppily-done braid. "Please,_ please_. You've got to make him see reason!"

"Rhianna, darling, whatever has happened, I'm sure it will be all right." With a hand on her daughter's arm, Eleanor guided Rhianna to the sofa and sat beside her. "Now, just calm down and tell me what's happened. What's this about?"

"It's about Loghain." Rhianna's breath came in short gasps, and she could barely hold back fresh tears. "He came to see Father, and asked to marry me."

Maker's blood. So, Loghain was interested in Rhianna, as Eleanor had long suspected. But apparently she'd been dreadfully, dreadfully wrong about Rhianna's feelings on the matter; the girl was distraught and miserable.

"Darling," Eleanor soothed, taking her hand, "it's all right. I . . . well, to be honest, I had thought you would welcome an offer from the Teyrn. You and Loghain have always gotten along so well together. But if you don't want to marry him, we won't force you."

"No," Rhianna moaned. "You don't understand. That's not it at all! I _want_ to marry Loghain. I want it more than anything. But Father said no."

What? Loghain had proposed, and Bryce had turned him down?

Had Bryce gone mad?

Rhianna began sobbing again, in earnest. "And he swears there's no way he'll ever change his mind. You've got to talk to him, please. Talk some sense into him. Make him change his mind. Whatever he's thinking, whatever reasons he has for not wanting this, he's wrong. Loghain and I love one another, and I want to be with him. Please, you've got to convince Father that he's wrong!"

This made no sense at all. A better match for Rhianna wasn't possible, and it was obviously what the girl wanted. This was what Eleanor had been hoping would happen for years, and Bryce had said no?

Eleanor cradled her daughter in her arms, and stroked her hair. "I'll speak to him, darling. We'll work this out. I promise."

Bryce arrived home a short while later, his expression grim. When he ushered Eleanor into the privacy of their rooms, Eleanor learned she had made a promise to her daughter she might not be able to keep.

All because of the promise Bryce had made, without bothering to ask Eleanor or Rhianna what they thought of the arrangement.

"It makes sense in every regard," Bryce had said, his voice firm, as though he'd spent a lot of time practicing how to say it convincingly. But Eleanor was far from convinced, and she sensed Bryce had doubts, even if he steadfastly refused to admit it. "This marriage will be good for everyone involved."

"Good for everyone?" Eleanor lifted a brow. "Rhianna is heartbroken over your rejection of Loghain's proposal. I fail to see how this arrangement benefits her in any way."

Bryce's lips tightened. "Don't tell me you're going to start with that, too. I should think the benefit is obvious. Rhianna just needs time to get over this infatuation with Loghain. Something you and I should never have allowed in the first place."

"Infatuation?"

"Please, Eleanor." Bryce sounded haggard. "Please. I've had nothing but drama from Rhianna for the past three days, and I don't need it from you as well. I know she believes she loves Loghain, but she's barely seventeen years old. What does a girl her age know about anything, let alone love?"

"Don't you dare!" Eleanor's eyes flashed as anger flared up in her chest. "Don't you dare insult her like that. You know as well as I do that Rhianna is a sensible young woman, not some flighty girl who has never committed herself to anything. If you're in favor of this arrangement, we can consider it on its own merits - a discussion that should, in all fairness, include Rhianna. But in any case, don't twist this to belittle our daughter, or make it sound as though her feelings aren't genuine. And what about Loghain? He's never been anything but kind to her."

"Hmnh," Bryce scoffed. "You might say that now, but we'll see if you still feel the same after you learn what happened on the night of Maric's wake."

In truth, the details of Bryce's conversation with Loghain had given Eleanor pause, especially the concealment of Vaughan's attempted rape. That Rhianna went through something so awful, and had so thoroughly hidden it from her parents, was difficult to believe. Later, after speaking with Rhianna, Eleanor didn't share Bryce's anger at Loghain and Fergus. Rhianna had chosen to keep quiet about what had happened, and as much as Eleanor wished she could have known, been there to give her daughter comfort, it was Rhianna's decision to make. And at least this way Vaughan suffered an appropriate consequence for what he had done.

No, in spite of this, and all the other arguments Bryce made, Eleanor firmly believed Rhianna would be happiest with Loghain. And there were political implications Bryce seemed not to have taken into consideration. But he was adamant about refusing Loghain's proposal, and seemed unable to get past his anger long enough to even listen to anything Eleanor said in the man's favor. Somehow Bryce had convinced himself that Rhianna would be abandoned and abused and miserable, and destined to die an early death if she married Loghain.

In the end, though, it wasn't Bryce's dislike for Loghain that decided the matter. It was the promise he'd made to Cailan. A promise Bryce would not even consider breaking.

"I'm sorry, Eleanor. I would have preferred to discuss this with you first, but Cailan took me by surprise, and what else was there for me to say? He's the king. I couldn't very well tell him no."

"Well, yes. As a matter of fact, you certainly could have said no. Or at least told him you needed time to think it over. Time to speak with _me_ about it. I am the girl's mother, after all. He could have hardly refused that request."

Bryce glanced away, unwilling to meet her eyes as he released a ragged breath. "Eleanor. Please. Yes, perhaps I could have handled things differently, but what's done is done. And I honestly don't understand why no one but me can see how much this benefits Rhianna. I would never have agreed if I didn't think she would be happy. Maker's balls, how was I to know she had any interest in marrying Loghain? Neither of them spoke a word about it before now."

"You could have asked her before you made any promises."

And Bryce should have known. The signs were there, and had been for some time. But damn Loghain, anyway. Why hadn't he asked for Rhianna's hand sooner? A public betrothal would have been impossible to break. And perhaps Eleanor had a share of the responsibility as well. It had been a mistake to sit back and allow things to progress on their own.

At any rate, it was too late to worry about who was to blame. Far too late. Loghain had been rejected, and Rhianna promised elsewhere, even though she didn't yet know anything about it; Bryce had agreed that it not be mentioned to her until this Maker-damned trip Cailan had planned. So, not only were they forcing this upon her, but she wasn't even to be given any warning. It seemed unfair not to give her some time to prepare herself. Then again, this was surely the least of the things Rhianna would consider "unfair." And if she knew what was planned she might really run away as Bryce feared.

So, they would just have to trust that Rhianna would respond appropriately, regardless of her true feelings.

Eleanor did trust her daughter, and knew that in time, her heart would heal from whatever damage this caused. Still, it was horrible to witness; Eleanor's heart broke time and time again when she saw the pain this had caused. The look in her daughter's eyes, the slump of her shoulders, the pallor of her skin, like something inside of her had died. And knowing there was nothing Eleanor could to do fix this; that was what hurt most of all. More than once, she'd had the urge to slap Bryce as hard as she could, to see if some sense could be knocked through his thick skull.

But it wouldn't have changed anything, not now. And in spite of the anger Eleanor felt on Rhianna's behalf, she couldn't find it in her heart to be too harsh with her husband. No matter how misguided this seemed, she believed Bryce was doing his best, doing what he believed was right. And on top of all this there was the mess in Amaranthine.

Eleanor had known nothing at all about it until Bryce returned from Denerim, and this, too, broke her heart. To think of him suffering through so much anxiety about it on his own. And it still seemed impossible that Highever soldiers had been caught attacking innocent citizens. Utterly impossible. In truth, Eleanor wasn't entirely sure she believed the story that had been put forward.

A week after returning to Highever - with strict instructions that Rhianna be watched at all times to make certain she didn't run away - Bryce had gone to Amaranthine to question the guards involved. This turned out to be a monumental waste of time; he arrived at the Vigil to learn that three of the men had been killed attempting to escape, and the fourth had hung himself in his cell. So, anyone who could have given a first-hand account was gone, and the knowledge of whatever motivation they'd had was gone with them. Rendon had agreed to keep quiet about it, and fortunately only a few of his guards were aware of what had happened. But it was still horrible, and Bryce had started an investigation of his own, to find out what those men had been up to, and to make certain there were no other bad apples rotting away in the ranks of the Highever Regulars.

All in all, it had made for a miserable, stressful time for Bryce. Eleanor had rarely seen him this on edge, this defensive. It had become almost impossible to talk to him, even for Eleanor. And she feared his relationship with Rhianna would take a great deal of time to recover. If, indeed, it ever did.

Though more than a month had passed, Rhianna was only marginally less distraught than she had been when she first returned to Highever. She'd lost weight, from a lack of appetite, or perhaps due to throwing herself into sword training with an intensity Eleanor had never seen before. And when Rhianna wasn't on the practice field, she was gone from the castle, riding in the countryside with her hound. At first, Bryce had tried to forbid this, worried she would run away and not return. He'd demanded she remain in the castle, but after only a few days, she'd snuck out with Faolan and Dane, and stayed out until well after night had fallen. Eleanor had been terrified Rhianna had been injured, or worse; Bryce suspected the girl had run off with Loghain to get married in the Free Marches, and threatened a great deal of violence upon Loghain when they returned.

But Rhianna hadn't gone to Starkhaven for a runaway wedding. She'd merely ridden up into the mountains near West Hill, looking for - of all things - an entrance to the Deep Roads, or so she said. Not, she assured her parents, that she had intended to go underground if she found it (which she hadn't, thank the Maker). She claimed she was just curious to see what one looked like. Bryce had been furious, and wanted to restrict her to her room, but Eleanor had put her foot down, and refused to even consider it. After all, no matter how displeased Bryce was with Rhianna's current attitude, she'd done nothing wrong. She certainly did not deserve to become a prisoner in her own home. And the more Bryce tried to control her, the worse her rebellion was likely to become.

So, with Eleanor's blessing, Rhianna spent a great deal of time away from the castle in the weeks that followed. And when she was at home she didn't speak much to anyone other than Oren, with whom she was incredibly gentle and kind. Most likely, he was the only member of the family Rhianna didn't hold at least some shred of a grudge against, and so poured all her affection onto him as a result.

Today, as everyone else in the castle rushed around to prepare for the arrival of His Majesty, the King of Ferelden, Eleanor knocked on her daughter's bedroom door. When Rhianna opened it, her eyes were red and her cheeks damp as though she'd only just wiped away tears.

Andraste's arse, more tears? Yes, this was difficult, but surely she should be past crying about it by now.

"Darling." She tried to keep the disappointment from her voice as she stepped into the room, closed the door, and put her arm around her daughter. "Please, I know this is hard for you, but you've got to pull yourself together. Cailan and Bann Teagan will be here soon."

"I know." Rhianna's voice sounded small, as it had when she was a child, although she'd rarely cried about anything for her own sake; usually her tears had been shed when some beloved pet or another had died. "It's just . . ." She shook her head, pulled away from Eleanor to sit on the bed, and put her face in her hands.

"What is it, darling? Just tell me. You'll feel better if you don't keep everything to yourself."

"It's just . . ." Her voice was muffled, and Eleanor knelt beside her to hear better. "I started bleeding today."

"Bleeding? Are you injured? How did this happen?"

"No, not that sort of bleeding." Rhianna glanced at her mother's face, and then looked away again. "My monthly blood. It came today. And I had hoped so much . . ."

Rhianna started crying again, and Eleanor put her arm around the girl's shoulders.

"I don't understand," she murmured.

"It should have come more than a week ago, and it's just that if I . . . well, I thought maybe, if I were with child, Father would have to agree to let me marry Loghain. I hoped so much for it to be true, but now I know for certain it isn't." Rhianna put her face in her hands again and sobbed quietly.

If Rhianna had thought she might be pregnant . . . she and Loghain must have been intimate. Maker's blood. According to Bryce, Loghain said he hadn't lain with Rhianna; apparently, that was a lie.

Eleanor's anger flared. Damn it. Men, and the games they played, even with the women they professed to love.

This also explained why Rhianna was still so upset. Not only did she love Loghain, but she'd given herself to him completely, something that must have meant a great deal to her. If only she'd said something before now; if Eleanor had known the entire truth sooner, she might have been able to force Bryce to change his mind. But now?

It was far too late for that now.

Eleanor pulled her daughter close. "My darling girl." She tightened her arms around Rhianna, and kissed her hair. "My poor, darling girl."

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

The king's arrival was met by a great deal of excitement and fanfare throughout the castle and Highever town. Cailan was a popular king, just as his father had been, and once the royal party had been spotted, people lined the road and cheered for him the last half mile to the castle. Cailan wore his golden armor, no helmet covering his flaxen hair, and he waved graciously, his eyes bright as he rode beside Bann Teagan, whose demeanor was more subdued than the king's, but no less cheerful.

In the castle's great hall, the entire Cousland family waited to greet them. For her parent's sake, Rhianna did her best to appear as though all was well. She looked nice enough, in one of the new dresses her mother had ordered as a bribe to make Rhianna forget about Loghain, and she smiled as brilliantly as she knew how, hoping no one would see any hint of the grief that had hit her earlier in the day, grief over the loss of a child she had never even been carrying. And now, never would.

She still felt hollow inside. She hadn't been consciously aware of just how much she hoped to have Loghain's child, but when she started bleeding this morning, she realized she had been hoping for it all along. It would have fixed everything. Yes, there would have been gossip, and speculation that Loghain was being forced to marry her at swordpoint, but none of that would have mattered. Not if it meant her father would give his permission, after all. Not if it meant she and Loghain would be together.

Oh, Maker. Just thinking about it made her stomach cramp painfully. How could this have happened? It was like something from a nightmare, and she desperately wanted to wake up and leave the horror behind in the Fade.

One night - the best, most beautiful night of her entire life - everything was perfect. The next morning, her life was in ruins. She still couldn't fathom why Father was so adamantly opposed to this marriage. He had confronted her about what happened with Vaughan, and it was understandable he was upset about not having been told sooner. But he seemed to take it as proof that Loghain was unsuitable and dangerous, when surely it proved the opposite: how much Loghain truly cared for her, the lengths to which he would go to keep her safe. It was not possible that being with Loghain could ever endanger her in any way. That simply wasn't true.

But Father wouldn't listen to reason; now he wouldn't listen to much of anything Rhianna had to say at all, and he'd forbidden her to speak Loghain's name in his presence. So, she said very little to anyone. Which was fine. In truth, she didn't have much of anything pleasant to say.

Except now they had guests, and it would no doubt fall on Rhianna to entertain them. While this visit might serve as something of a distraction, the mere thought of it was exhausting. Especially if she would be required to spend a great deal of time with the king; he was rather needy of attention. Bann Teagan, however, was good company, and always seemed to find ways of making her laugh, so that was a small blessing. Something to look forward to, anyway.

The king and Bann Teagan strode forward, followed by the four royal guards who had accompanied them on the road. As expected, Cailan greeted the Teyrn and Teyrna first, but surprisingly, rather than greeting Fergus and Oriaina, he turned to Rhianna next.

"Lady Cousland. Rhianna." He smiled broadly, taking both of her hands in his own. "It is such a pleasure to see you again."

She smiled, trying not to appear confused by his attention. "And you as well, Your Majesty."

"Please," he protested, "didn't I ask you to call me Cailan?"

She let out a small sigh of resignation, but forced the smile to remain in place. "Yes, you did, Your . . . I mean Cailan. Welcome to Highever. We're all very happy to have you here."

"And I'm very happy to be here. Rhianna." He held her gaze a few heartbeats longer than was comfortable before turning to Fergus and Oriana.

Teagan came forward, and made a somewhat formal bow. "Lady Cousland, it is a pleasure to see you again so soon." His smile was warm, and she felt herself relax just a bit.

"Yes, it is, for me as well. Welcome to Highever, ser. I'm very glad you are here."

After Cailan greeted Fergus and Oriana, he turned to Oren, and knelt down to speak to the boy at eye-level. Oren was almost five now, and wildly excited about the king coming to visit.

"I think it's just possible," Cailan whispered, "I might have brought something for you. We'll have to see what happens after my bags have been unpacked. But make sure not to breathe a word about it to anyone else, all right? It can be our little secret."

Rhianna smiled in spite of herself. Cailan was whispering loudly enough for both of the boy's parents to hear, but Oren was entranced, and tugged at Rhianna's sleeve.

She knelt beside her nephew, and he turned to face her. "Did you hear that, Auntie? King Cailan has a secret for me! An actual secret with the actual king!"

"Yes," Rhianna whispered conspiratorially. "But if it's a secret, I think that means you aren't supposed to tell anyone. Not even me."

Oren's eyes grew wide, and his mouth shaped into an almost perfectly round "O." He nodded solemnly, and turned back to the king. "Don't worry, Your Majesty," he whispered in a voice loud enough to be heard in Amaranthine. "I won't tell anyone. Not anyone else, that is."

"Good job," Cailan chuckled, and scruffed the boy's hair.

Again, Rhianna smiled. Perhaps this week wouldn't be quite as difficult as she'd anticipated.

‹›‹O›‹›

"Take that, stinky darkspawn!" Oren's high-pitched voice echoed off the stone walls of the hallway just outside the sitting room where the adults and their guests were trying to have a conversation. Cailan had indeed brought gifts for the boy: a wooden sword and shield painted with the mabari rampant that was the King's own device.

Now, Oren brandished the sword about with a great deal of enthusiasm and a complete lack of technique, as Rhianna had not yet been given permission to teach him how to properly wield a sword. Dane kept the boy company, and his barking punctuated the silences between Oren's increasingly intense battle cries.

A sound rang through the air as wood collided with metal; a moment later there was a deafening crash of metal upon stone. Presumably, one of the suits of armor on display in the hallway had been toppled off its stand. Dane's barking escalated to a somewhat frantic pitch, although Oren was now strangely silent.

Rhianna looked up from the chessboard, and the game she was playing against Cailan.

Once the hound had calmed a bit, Oren appeared in the doorway.

"Oops."

Rhianna pressed her lips together tightly, trying not to burst into laughter at the wide-eyed look of horror on Oren's face. She glanced at Cailan, who made no attempt to hide his smile.

"Oops?" Oriana got up from the sofa. "Is that all you have to say for yourself, ser?"

"I'm sorry?" His voice rose at the end as though it were a question.

"Yes, well it's a start. At any rate, that's more than enough swordplay for now." She crossed the room and confiscated the wooden sword and shield. "Besides, it's bedtime."

"Bedtime? But the sun is still up! Can't I stay up for just a little while longer? Pleeeease?"

"Oren," Rhianna called softly, gesturing for the boy to come close. He crossed the sitting room, and climbed up into her lap. "How about this? You go to bed nicely, without any fuss, and I'll see if I can't convince your parents to let me show you how to use your new sword properly. On the practice field and everything, sometime very soon."

His eyes grew wide, shining brightly. "Tomorrow?"

"Well, that will be up to your mother." She lowered her voice, "But I'll try my best to get her to agree."

He hopped down off her lap, and galloped over to his mother. "Can we, please? Will you let Auntie show me how to use the sword? Please!"

Oriana raised a brow at her son, and glanced at Rhianna. It was a blatant manipulation, but considering that the sword in question had been a gift from the king, it seemed unlikely Oriana would refuse too strenuously.

"We'll see," she said. "But first, you need to meet your part of the bargain, and go to bed nicely."

"I will! I promise!"

Oriana gave her son a kiss on the forehead, as Fergus pushed himself up out of a chair. "All right, then, my boy, let's give you a chance to prove yourself." He lowered his voice, but only slightly, "And I'll see if I can't get your mother to agree to Auntie's suggestion, as well."

Grasping his father's hand happily, Oren allowed himself to be led out of the sitting room.

"Fergus," Eleanor called out, "ask one of the servants to come set the suit of armor right again, will you please?"

"Yes, Mother," he called back.

Rhianna returned her attention to the game of chess.

"Whose turn is it?" Cailan asked.

"Yours, I think." She wasn't sure if it was a complete lack of strategy on his part, or if he was just distracted for some reason, but she was winning, by a rather impressive margin. This was unusual, as Rhianna had never really cared much for chess, nor taken the time to get really good at it. It was one of the things Loghain teased her about: in all the years they had known one another, Rhianna had never beaten him at the game.

Thoughts of Loghain, however, were dangerous and painful, and best pushed from her mind as quickly as possible.

"So," Bryce asked pleasantly, "what shall we plan for tomorrow? A hunting expedition, I presume? I suspect at least some of the winter waterfowl will have returned to the lakes by now."

"Actually," Cailan replied, "I was thinking about something else. A few months back, Loghain spoke of a lovely beach he visited with Rhianna. I can't recall the name of it, though."

"Sarim's Point," Eleanor replied.

Rhianna's stomach lurched. Oh, Maker. Every detail of that day was still so clear in her mind. The last day she'd spent there with Loghain. Walking on the beach, laughing together in the waves. The poachers they had encountered on the way home. If only she had asked him to make love to her that night, maybe he'd have asked for her hand then, and her father wouldn't have refused? If she'd known how little time the two of them would have together, there are so many things she would have done differently.

"Yes, that's the place. Rhianna?" Cailan's voice sounded concerned. "Is everything all right?"

Startled, she looked up at him, and realized she had been frowning. She forced herself to smile. "No. I mean, yes, of course everything is all right. I was . . . well, Sarim's Point is lovely. I'd be happy to take the two of you there tomorrow." She smiled at Cailan and then Bann Teagan in turn. "With any luck, this late autumn weather will hold for at least a few more days before the snows start falling."

"Excuse me, Your Grace." A teenage boy appeared at the door; a messenger, judging by his dusty leather armor. "I've come with a message from Gwaren."

Rhianna looked up sharply, while Bryce and Eleanor exchanged a glance.

"Very well." Bryce motioned for the boy to enter. "Bring it here."

The boy hesitated. "Begging your pardon, Your Grace," he said with a slight nod of his head. "But the letter is for Lady Rhianna Cousland, and meant to be delivered directly to her?"

"I'm Lady Cousland." Rhianna stood, with the happiest smile that had crossed her face in weeks. She knew only one person in Gwaren.

She walked to the messenger and took the letter into her hands before anything else could be said about it. "Have you just now ridden into Highever?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Then you must be in need of a meal and something to drink. Let me take you down to the kitchen, where Nan will see you get whatever refreshment you would like." She turned and addressed the others in the room, "If you'll excuse me, I'll be back in a bit."

With a quick step, wanting to be away from her father lest he try and stop her from reading her letter in privacy, she ushered the boy out of the sitting room, and escorted him downstairs as promised. Then, she hurried up to her bedroom to read what Loghain had written.

_Dear Rhianna, _

_I apologize for taking so long to respond to your letter. After you left for Highever, I needed some time away from the city, and went home to Gwaren. More to the point, it has taken me this long to work out exactly what I wanted to say to you, and put it on parchment. _

_After speaking with your father, I was initially shocked and angry at his refusal to allow us to marry. Now that I've had ample time to consider everything he said, however, I have come to the conclusion that he was right. _

_I care for you very much. You must believe this. But I have a great many doubts that you and I could be happy together. You are one of the loveliest, best people I have ever known, and part of me - a part that is selfish and wrong-headed - thought to make you mine, in spite of these doubts. Your father reminded me of things that made me realize what I wanted simply isn't possible. And it would be unfair to you, to put you through so much only for you to end up unhappy, living on the other end of the country from everyone you have ever known, wed to a man who is not worthy of you. _

_I am not the man you think I am, in spite of how much I wish I were. I will always be grateful for having known you. You brought so much that was good into my life, but I have to let you go, so you will be free to find a life that can make you truly happy. To find someone younger, someone more cheerful, someone who hasn't done the dark things I have done. Someone who can keep you safe, and love you the way you deserve to be loved. For a time, I thought perhaps I was that man. I wanted to be, but I have had to face the truth: I am not that man, and will never be. _

_I wish you only the best, _

_Loghain_

She stared at the parchment for nearly a minute, not believing that the words she had read were really what was written on the page. This had to be some mistake. Loghain was supposed to tell her he loved her, and would wait for her. That he, too, believed they were meant to be together, and would never let anything keep them apart. That he would arrive in Highever to claim her on the day of her eighteenth birthday, and everything would be fine. Or that he was waiting for her right now in Amaranthine or Waking Sea, and as soon as she could get away, they would sail across to Starkhaven and be married in the Chantry there.

She read the letter again, searching for the words that_ had_ to be there: "I love you."

But they weren't anywhere on the parchment.

Blessed Andraste. This was the end. The life she had wanted for herself as long as she could remember was never going to happen. She and Loghain - whom she loved more than she knew how to bear - were not going to be married. She might never see him again, and even if she did, what would they be to one another? Nothing. Not even friends, now.

_I will always be grateful for having known you._

In the past tense.

A tear escaped her eye, and then another, and another until the tears streamed down her face. She put her face in her hands and cried, not caring that her eyes would be red and swollen, and her parents would be angry with her because she'd abandoned their guests. She didn't care about anything. Not now. Not if this was really the way Loghain felt.

No.

No. She sat up and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. This wasn't possible. They would be married. They _would _be married. He loved her. She knew in her heart that Loghain Mac Tir loved her. Not because of anything he had said, or any particular thing he had done. It was just . . . him. The sort of man that he was, the man she knew him to be even if no one else could see it. Even if he himself couldn't see it. He would never have allowed her to get so close, to know him so intimately, if he didn't love her. And not just laying with her that one night, but the intimacy they had shared in so many ways for years and years.

He loved her, and perhaps this meant his heart, too, was breaking, had already broken, when he had sent the letter. Then why had he sent it? What had her father said that made Loghain doubt what had to be true in his heart?

A stab of rage went through her, rage at her father. This was his fault, all of it. And if she couldn't find a way to fix this, Rhianna would never forgive him. Never.

There had to be a way to fix this. There had to be. She would fight for Loghain, she would write to him and beg him to take back what he'd said. Beg him to tell the truth: that he loved her. There had to be something she could say to convince him not to turn his back on her, not to walk away, just because of things her father had said. Her father, who knew _nothing_ at all about what they meant to one another.

But what could she write? She'd written everything in her first letter. She'd told him how she felt, told him she loves him. She'd told him she wants to be with him, no matter what her father said. She'd told him she would wait, or run away with him now. And none of it had made any difference. So perhaps this was something that couldn't be done in a letter.

She would have to go to him. Go to Gwaren and talk to him. Take his hands in her own as she looked into his eyes. Kiss him. Run her hands through his hair, and across his skin. Show him how much she loved him, how much she needed him, convince him that nothing else mattered, as long as they were together. Whatever her father had said, whatever anyone else said, none of it mattered. He loved her, and no matter what he had written, if she asked him how he felt when they were face to face, he would tell her the truth. He would tell her he loved her, and everything would be all right again.

Yes, she would go to Gwaren. It would have to wait until after Cailan and Teagan were gone; her parents would never forgive her if she ran away during their visit. Not that she really cared what they thought, although her mother at least had been sympathetic. But she needed time to plan, so she would do that during this Maker-damned royal visit, and as soon as they were gone, she would sneak away and go to Loghain.

But how to get there? It would take several weeks to cross the country on horseback, and even with Dane along, it seemed risky. Yes, she knew how to defend herself, but what if she came across a large group of bandits? Or darkspawn? It would be better, safer, to journey by sea. She couldn't risk taking the berlinn, though, not on her own. She was capable of sailing it by herself in a pinch, but not for a trip of that distance. She'd need to sleep, and if she hit rough seas or foul weather, she could get into a great deal of trouble.

Instead, she'd book passage on a ship. Enough money would ensure not only a berth but also the silence of the captain, at least until they'd left Highever. Or perhaps she could disguise herself somehow. That was one downside to being the Teyrn's daughter, and having spent so much time in town. Everyone knew her, which would make it difficult to sneak away without someone alerting her father, even unintentionally.

Perhaps she should go elsewhere to find a ship. Amaranthine, or Jader?

No, that would take too much time, and as soon as her parents realized she was gone, they'd send people looking for her. She needed to have everything arranged before she left the castle. She would just have to find someone in the village, someone with a fishing boat seaworthy enough to make the trip, and she'd pay a lot of money for this person to sail her to Gwaren.

That would do. She had a lot of friends in town, and there must be someone who would agree to such a deal.

Maker's blood. Was she really planning to run away from home, leave Highever and make her way to Gwaren, all by herself? It seemed outlandish, something she would never have imagined doing. But if this was the only way to be with Loghain, she would do it, her father's opinion be damned.

But perhaps it would be smarter to tell someone what she planned. Fergus, maybe?

No. What if he wasn't willing to help? Or worse yet, told her parents what she was planning? If that happened, they really would lock her up in her room, and she'd never see Loghain again.

Something gnawing and empty erupted in her chest, something that grew and grew and threatened to overwhelm her.

Why? Why was this happening?

Nothing in her life made sense anymore. Just a month ago, everything had been perfect, and now she was making a plan to run away from home and beg Loghain not to abandon her? His presence was one of the things in her life she had always counted on; he was one of the few people she genuinely trusted. How had it come to this?

Perhaps she should just accept it. Accept that he didn't want her, and that whatever they had together was over. Oh, Maker. What if it really was too late? What if there really was nothing she could say or do to make this better? How was she supposed to go on living without him?

It didn't seem possible. He had wanted her, he loved her. She couldn't have been wrong about that.

But Loghain was not the sort of man to say something he hadn't thought through. He'd taken a great deal of time in deciding what to write. Perhaps he had genuinely decided he didn't want her. Perhaps she had done something wrong, something to make him angry, or disappoint him. Perhaps he hadn't enjoyed the night they spent at Fort Drakon.

Fresh tears spilled from her eyes, but she fought against them.

No.

Loghain loved her. He _loved _her. She was sure of it, as sure as she had ever been about anything. So he must have written those things for some other reason, something her father had said that upset him. And even if he had decided that, for some reason, they shouldn't be together, she owed it to herself - owed it to both of them - to try and convince him otherwise.

She could fix this. There had to be some way to fix this. She would take his face in her hands, and tell him everything she felt, everything she knew to be true. She would kiss his lips, she would pull him close and whisper her love into his ear. And he would hold her in his arms and tell her he loved her and everything would be all right again. As soon as Cailan and Teagan were gone, she would go to Gwaren.

_But what if you get there to find he genuinely doesn't want you?_

There was a soft knock at the door. Pushing that last, dreadful thought away, she opened it to find her brother standing in the hall, his shoulders stooped as though he didn't really want to be there. He looked down at her through worried eyes.

"Our parents sent me to find you, Elsie, and ask you to come back to the sitting room. Cailan is lamenting that you abandoned him in the middle of a game of chess."

"Is he really? I didn't realize it was my job to babysit the king." She tried to smile, make her harsh words sound like a joke, but it wasn't really a joke. She didn't care at all about Cailan, or what her parents thought, or any of it. How could she possibly go back downstairs and pretend everything was all right? Pretend she wasn't planning on running away from home at the first opportunity? Pretend that her heart wasn't broken in a thousand pieces because she had no way of knowing if things would ever be all right with Loghain again?

Her face crumpled and again she began to sob. Fergus stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, and pulled her into his arms.

"I take it the letter from Loghain wasn't what you wanted to hear?"

"No, it wasn't what I wanted to hear." She clung tightly and let the tears fall, wetting the collar of his shirt. "He said . . . he said he doesn't believe he can ever make me happy. I don't understand why everyone keeps saying that. I know he would make me happy. He's already made me happy in a thousand different ways. But no one bothers to ask me how I feel. Not father, not Loghain. They've all just decided for me."

"Oh, Pet." Fergus held her tighter and stroked her hair. "I wish things were different. I wish there was something I could say to make this magically better. To take away your pain. But there isn't, is there?"

"I don't think so." She pulled away to look into his face. "And now I have to go back downstairs and entertain guests. Is it even remotely possible there is some way we can fix it so I don't look like I've been crying my eyes out?"

"You look beautiful, Rhianna," Fergus said. "Let's just give your face a splash with cold water, and our guests will be none the wiser."

‹›‹O›‹›

"Well, there you are! I was just about to declare our game forfeit, which would have been a shame, since I think you're winning." Cailan grinned, but his smile faded when he saw the look on Rhianna's face. "Is . . . is everything all right?"

"Of course." She smiled brightly, a smile born of a thousand salons where she was required to pretend to enjoy herself when she was really cringing on the inside. "I just had an attack of sneezing. There must be dust in the air, or something." She glanced at her father, who was staring at her with a frown on his face, but she quickly looked away. She could only imagine the pleasure it would give him to know the contents of Loghain's letter. Damn him.

"So, what did Ser Grumpypants have to say?"

"What?"

Cailan laughed. "Loghain. Unless you have other friends in Gwaren? The letter must have been from him."

Oh, Maker. What sort of person asked a question like that?

"I'm just wondering," Cailan continued, "what on earth you and he would have to correspond about."

The king's face was open and curious; clearly he wasn't expecting anything scandalous or compromising. He probably was genuinely unable to fathom what sort of things someone like her would talk about with someone like Loghain.

"Cailan, that's not a proper question to ask." Teagan's voice held a hint of reproach.

"Not proper? I don't see why not. I mean, it wasn't any sort of love letter, was it?" At this, Cailan actually winked at her, and it took all her will to keep her expression neutral.

"No, of course not. He just . . . well, it wasn't anything you would be interested in, I'm sure."

"Ha, well, that I find easy enough to believe. Loghain is not the most interesting person in the world, is he? It's all 'money for the armies' and 'damned Orlesians' with him. Although, I do wonder . . . did he find out anything more about those assassins?"

"Assassins?"

"What's this?" Rhianna's father sounded equally surprised. "Was another attempt made on his life?"

"Oh, yes," Cailan said casually, waving a hand as if it were old news, and of little import. "On his way back to Gwaren, the party was set upon by a group who appeared at first to be bandits, but they were clearly far too skilled, and far too interested in Loghain, in particular."

"Maker's blood," Rhianna swore. "No, he didn't mention it. He wasn't injured, was he?" Perhaps this was the reason he'd written the letter. If he'd taken a serious injury, perhaps he feared she would no longer want to be with him. Had he lost an arm, or a leg perhaps? And worried she would not be able to love a cripple? Which, of course, was ridiculous. She would always love him, no matter what.

"Loghain? No. He's fine. He's nigh on indestructible, if you ask me." For the first time, Cailan's cheer seemed to falter. "His footman was killed, though."

"Uthalas?"

"Was that his name? I don't remember. An elven man?"

"Yes, that's Uthalas." Tears sprang to her eyes, and she made only a half-hearted attempt to fight them. "Oh, Maker. He's dead? Oh, no . . . that's . . . that's awful."

"Did you know this man?" Bann Teagan's voice was laced with concern, as were his eyes when Rhianna glanced over at him.

"Yes, I knew him. Not very well, really, but I met him several times, when I visited Gwaren House. He was a good man, kind and funny. The thing I remember most is the way he wandered around humming to himself most of the time. Loghain trusted him, relied on him. They were friends. Uthalas had been with Loghain since the Rebellion. He was one of the Night Elves."

And his death must have been devastating for Loghain. Why, then didn't he mention it in his letter?

Rhianna put her forehead in the palm of her hand. Poor Uthalas. If only she had been there with them. She would have been able to help; almost certainly having one more warrior would have tipped the balance in their favor, kept Uthalas from being killed. And poor Loghain. How much must this be hurting him, now he's all alone in Gwaren?

He shouldn't have to face something like this alone. She should be with him right now, at his side. She should always be at his side. Always. But now that might never happen . . .

She took a gasping breath, trying desperately to keep herself from bursting into tears.

Cailan reached over and put a hand on her arm. "This is troubling you, isn't it? I'm sorry . . . so sorry for bringing such bad news. I almost wish I hadn't said anything about it."

She looked up, and forced herself to breathe slowly. "No, I'm glad you told me. I'd rather know the truth. And yes, it's . . . troubling. It's . . . well, it's horrible. Uthalas was a good man, and Loghain will miss him."

She glanced around the room to find everyone staring at her, with varying degrees of concern. She needed their eyes off of her, needed not to be the focus of attention. Her heart felt like it might burst out of her chest, and she was afraid of what she might do, or say if she couldn't make everyone stop staring like this.

"So, who's turn was it?" she asked Cailan, feigning a smile.

For a moment, he looked at her through narrowed eyes, and she forced herself to smile even more brightly.

"Yours, of course," he replied, smiling back at her. His eyes were so much like Maric's, and for a moment she felt almost queasy, overwhelmed by too many memories and feelings, as the weight of just how many beloved people were gone from her life descended upon her.

She studied the chess pieces, their positions barely registering in her mind, but knowing she had to do something, move one of them somewhere else on the board. Somewhere that made at least a little bit of sense.

As if anything would ever make sense again.

And if that were the case, why did it matter? Why did it matter where she moved her piece? No doubt one of Cailan's would come along and destroy it. So why fight it at all? Why not just make it easy for him?

She moved her queen diagonally, pretending she hadn't noticed Cailan's rook in position to attack.

"Oh ho! I think you're going to regret that," he said, an enormous grin splitting his face as he took her queen. "Check!"

"Actually," she replied with a smile, determined not to let him see any of the turmoil bubbling just under the surface, "I believe that's 'checkmate.' Congratulations, Cailan. You've won."

‹O›  
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As always, an enormous thank-you to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and to all my lovely (and heartbroken) reviewers: GLCW2, KatDancer2, DjinnieGenie, Melysande, SwomeeSwan, KrystylSky, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Hannahhobnob, Milly-finalfantasy, Dragonmactir and Psyche Sinclair. Your continuing support means the world to me.

‹›‹O›‹›


	65. The bright future

_**17 Kingsway, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Highever**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

"I'm afraid Teagan won't be joining us today."

Cailan sounded regretful when Rhianna came downstairs, in preparation for the beach excursion they had planned for the day. But his tone was belied by a twinkle in his eyes that suggested he wasn't entirely unhappy.

"Oh?" Rhianna fixed the smile on her face, careful to hide her disappointment. "Why not?" She'd looked forward to Teagan's company on this ride out to Sarim's Point; the bann had always been pleasant, cheerful and kind, and his presence would have meant she would not be the only focus of Cailan's attention throughout the day.

"He's not feeling well this morning."

"Not feeling well? What's wrong? I hope it's nothing serious."

"No, no, it's nothing serious. I think perhaps he just had one too many glasses of port last night, if you know what I mean."

That was strange; Rhianna hadn't noticed Teagan overindulging. Then again, she hadn't really paid proper attention to anything; she'd been distracted the previous evening, to say the least.

This morning, she was trying not to think about . . . well, anything. She'd spent the night plagued by nightmares, and awoke to a vague feeling of dread that grew more solid when she remembered the letter she had received. And now, all thoughts led back to Loghain, which left her feeling nauseous and hollow. Last night, the idea of going to Gwaren had seemed sound. She had been certain Loghain still wanted her, even if he'd decided to go along with her father's wishes for some ridiculous reason.

But this morning, when she remembered the letter - not only the words he had written, but the words he _hadn't - _she was no longer so sure. Maybe he didn't love her - _maybe he never loved you at all_, a horrid voice in her head whispered - and going to Gwaren would only embarrass them both, and create a whirlwind of drama and scandal that would haunt them both for years to come. But how was she supposed to accept that everything she believed in was a lie? And how could she ever get used to the idea of living her life without him?

And then she thought back on all the things they had shared, so many things over the years, and she knew - _knew_ in her heart - that he loved her. And that there was no risk she wouldn't take if it meant they would be together. Surely, that's what he really wanted, in his heart, as well. Surely?

_Maybe he never loved you at all._

These thoughts, and others like them, just kept spinning relentlessly through her mind, no matter how much she tried to push them aside. So she felt hollow and nauseous and almost as though she were floating part way out of her body, and couldn't focus properly on anything. The distance was almost nice, as it seemed to dull the pain, a bit, but it was certainly not the right frame of mind in which to entertain the king.

And without Teagan, it would just be Rhianna and Calian, along with two guards who didn't appear inclined to conversation. A wave of exhaustion crashed over her and, for a fleeting moment, she considered begging off of the adventure, claiming some illness of her own. It wouldn't have been untrue; she felt awful in a variety of ways.

Unfortunately, backing out of the day's adventure was absolutely not possible. Cailan was the king, and she had a duty to be a gracious hostess, especially since everyone else in the household had come up with reasons to remain at the castle. But the day had now lost what little appeal it once had, and the mere thought of it exhausted her.

On top of everything else, she dreaded this return to Sarim's Point. Everything there would remind her of Loghain. Of course there were few places in the Coastlands that didn't remind her of Loghain, so, perhaps it didn't really matter where they went.

So, she smiled at Cailan, and took the arm he offered as they made their way to the stables.

Equipped with a picnic basket whose contents could have fed a small army, Rhianna, Cailan and the two guards rode eastward along the coast road. The king chatted incessantly as they rode, and it reminded her of Maric; he, too, had almost never stopped talking. Maric was rather more whimsical, though, and somewhat less self-involved. Still, it would be difficult not to be self-involved if you had been raised as Cailan had been, the only son of a rather sainted pair of royal parents. Occasionally, Rhianna tried to include the guards in the conversation, but that proved impossible. When asked a question, they answered in the shortest number of syllables possible, and then fell silent again as they scanned the distance for potential threats to the king.

Even so, it was not really difficult to listen to Cailan's chatter, and answer when he asked a specific question, and the time passed quickly enough until they arrived at the beach. Rather than turning north, as she had done the times she had been here with Loghain, she led the king to the south. It was a shorter stretch of beach in this direction, but no specific memories of Loghain waited here to haunt her.

Surprisingly, Cailan asked the guards to stay behind with the horses, so it was just Rhianna and Cailan who made their way down through the sand, while Dane ran ahead to chase gulls and sandpipers out of their path. For once, Rhianna allowed him to pester the birds; the activity would help him burn off some of the nervous energy he had carried since they left Denerim. Not only was Dane having difficulty with the notion that Loghain was gone from their lives, but seeing his mistress so dreadfully upset was making him miserable, as well. Like Rhianna, Dane had not been sleeping well, and seemed to be plagued with nightmares more often than not.

Her stomach still felt unsettled, but it wasn't unpleasant to be out of doors like this. The sun's warmth warded off the slight chill from the air, and the sky was bright blue and cloudless, and the scent of the ocean was soothing. She pulled off her boots, and enjoyed the way the cool sand shifted beneath her bare feet. Halfway to the jumble of rocks that marked the end of this stretch of beach, they found a pleasant spot where they sat and unpacked the lunch basket.

Rhianna looked out over the sea, and allowed the sound of the surf, its tireless rhythm, to calm her nerves. The ocean was dark today, a deep teal blue, and looked colder than usual, decorated with tiny white capped waves that danced just offshore. Were any of Loghain's huge turtles out there, just out of sight beneath the waves? The thought brought with it a stab of pain, but a moment of amusement, as well. Rhianna chuckled, just once.

Cailan looked over at her. "What's so funny?" he asked with a smile.

His question startled her, disrupting the tentative calm she had found. "Oh. Nothing really."

Cailan lifted a brow. "Come on, it must have be something."

"I was . . . I was just wondering if there are turtles out there. Swimming just beneath the surface where we can't see them."

"Turtles? What's funny about that?"

"Nothing really." She pushed an errant strand of hair out of her face. "It's just . . . well, when Loghain was away at sea, looking for your father, he wrote to me about a turtle he'd seen, an enormous turtle, too big to fit in a horse cart. Ever since, I can't stop looking for one every time I see the ocean."

"Loghain wrote letters to you while he was away all those years ago? That's . . . strange. Like I said last night, I don't generally think of my father-in-law as the letter-writing sort. Not about anything as frivolous as turtles, at any rate. It's difficult for me to imagine him wasting a thought for anything other than military strategies or levies or more efficient ways of training the armies. Boring things like that. Nothing someone like you might find interesting. Certainly not turtles."

She glanced at him, but then looked away again, afraid he'd notice the frown that had come unbidden to her face. Someone like her? Just what was that supposed to mean? Why would he think Rhianna would be bored by such things? It was more than a little bit troubling that Cailan himself found them boring.

And clearly, he didn't know Loghain at all, if he truly believed Loghain thought of nothing but military strategy. Or perhaps Loghain really had been different with Rhianna, showed parts of himself to her that no one else ever saw.

Heat rose behind her eyes, and she blinked furiously, willing these unwelcome tears away. Fortunately, Cailan's gaze now travelled over the sea, as though he, too, were searching.

"I don't suppose I'd mind seeing a turtle like that, though. It sounds rather interesting. Perhaps tomorrow you'd be willing to take me out on your boat, and we can search high and low until we find one. Or, you can just call one over to see us. You could do that, couldn't you?"

This, at least, drove the frown away. "I suppose I could, but only if one was already nearby."

"Very well then! I think a day on your boat sounds like a grand idea. If you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. Assuming this weather holds, in which case it will be lovely tomorrow out on the water."

"Excellent." Cailan fell silent for a moment, but then he looked over at her, a rather earnest expression on his face.

"So, Rhianna . . ." There was a slight hesitation in his voice. This was unusual; the king rarely sounded anything less than sure of himself. "I have a confession to make."

"A confession? What sort of confession?"

"Well, that thing I told you this morning, about Teagan? It wasn't exactly the truth."

Rhianna's smile faltered. "What do you mean? Are you saying Teagan wasn't merely hungover? He's not genuinely ill, is he?"

"No, no! Nothing like that. Quite the opposite, in fact. What I meant to say is that Teagan isn't ill at all. He's fine. The only reason he didn't come with us today is because I asked him to stay behind. So you and I could talk. Alone."

"Oh." Rhianna's brow furrowed, and a twinge of discomfort knotted in her stomach. She couldn't imagine what the king would want to talk with her about. Alone. But it made her feel nervous, like she'd felt that evening when Vaughan Kendalls sat too close beside her on the bench by the duck pond.

That was silly. Surely, she didn't have to worry about anything like that with Cailan. He wasn't about to attack her. At least she hoped he wasn't, because she hadn't had brought her dagger; when she reached for it that morning, it reminded her too much of Loghain and she'd tucked it into a drawer instead. She'd need to find a replacement soon.

And anyway, it's not as though she could stab the king, no matter what he tried to do to her.

"You wanted to talk to me in private? About something in particular?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact. About, well, Ferelden I suppose. And the future. As you know, Anora I have been married nearly four years now, and she hasn't been able to give me an heir. I'm sure you can imagine how troubling this is. For me, for everyone, really. The succession is important. Not that I'm intending to die anytime soon, but it is something I think about. What will happen to Ferelden when I'm gone? Who will rule after me? I'm sure you understand how important this is."

"Of course. A great many people will feel more secure once there's an heir."

"Exactly! I knew you would understand. You are a noblewoman, after all. You know how important it is to do things . . . properly." He paused. "So, you see my dilemma. I am fond of Anora, you must believe that. But I can no longer justify remaining married to her. It's been too long, and there's been a great deal of pressure for me to set her aside, and marry someone more . . . suitable."

"Pressure? Pressure from whom?"

"Well, my uncle Eamon, primarily. It's not just Eamon, though; there are others as well. And I'm sure you've heard what people say about Anora behind her back. It's . . . awful. Ridiculous things, about her being cursed, that she's barren by virtue of her common birth. That it's a sign from the Maker that only people born into nobility should rule, rather than the granddaughter of farmers and carpenters."

Of course Rhianna was familiar with this sort of talk, but that didn't explain why Cailan had brought her out all this way to discuss it. Her unease grew stronger.

"Yes, I've heard what people say. It's all ridiculous, and untrue. Calenhad himself was the son of a merchant."

"I know. But in this case, it is true. Not the part about the curse, I mean, but Anora _is_ barren. So I have decided to divorce her. I don't see that I have any other choice, really. And that's why I'm here. In Highever."

The knot in her belly grew heavier. "I don't understand. What does Highever have to do with anything?"

Except she did understand. Even as she spoke the words, she knew exactly why Cailan was here.

"You're in Highever, Rhianna." He leaned closer and took one of her hands in both of his. "That's why I'm here. I want to marry you. Not yet, of course. I need to work out getting a divorce first, which might be tricky, what with the Landsmeet and all. But when that is taken care of, I want to make you my wife. To make you the Queen of Ferelden."

Rhianna's jaw dropped, and she felt sick to her stomach and literally speechless. She couldn't have gotten words out if her life depended upon it.

Marry Cailan? That was the most ridiculous, most awful, most terrifying thing she had ever heard. She didn't want to marry him. She couldn't marry him. She was going to Gwaren, to be with Loghain.

And even if Loghain didn't want her, she couldn't marry Cailan. The man who had cheated on Anora multiple times. A man who broke her heart just to look at him, because he looked so like his father - whom she still missed terribly - but was so unlike him in just about every other way. A man she didn't love, because she was still so desperately in love with Loghain.

She couldn't do it. She couldn't marry Cailan.

But how could she refuse? She knew what her father would say: "A Cousland always does her duty."

"Rhianna." Cailan chuckled, and squeezed her hand gently. "Say something. I know this is a lot to take in. But you shouldn't be too surprised, not really. You are one of the most amazing women I have ever known. You're beautiful and smart and gifted in so many different ways. There is no one else in Ferelden I would ever consider marrying. Please say yes. Say you'll agree to marry me."

She swallowed, and managed to force words from her lips. "Your Majesty . . . I mean, C-Cailan." She took a breath. "You're right, it is a lot to take in. Are you . . . do you . . . do you really mean this?"

"Yes, Rhianna. Of course I do." His voice was kind, and his eyes were bright. "I want you to be my wife. My queen."

Another breath. "I . . . well, I-I have to admit I had no idea this was even a possibility. Are you certain divorcing Anora is the best thing? For yourself, and for Ferelden?"

"I am certain. I've thought about this a lot. I can't even tell you how much I've thought about this. And I really can't see other option. The country needs an heir."

"I'm . . . well, I'm extremely flattered, Your Ma- . . . Cailan. I am. But I . . . I need some time to . . . become accustomed to the idea."

Cailan smiled. "Of course, Rhianna. I'm sorry. I realize how shocking this must be. I mean, I've just sprung it on you out of the blue. It's just that I'm so very excited about all of it. Sad, of course, about Anora, but so excited about the prospect of being with you."

"Excited? But you hardly know me."

"Don't be ridiculous. I've known you your whole life! Besides, I've heard so much about you, nothing but good things. From Anora, from Leonas Bryland, from Loghain. Especially from Loghain."

Hearing that name sent an unexpected spike of agony through her, and she drew in a breath, just loud enough to be heard. Worried she might actually burst into tears, she turned to stare out over the ocean.

Cailan continued, not seeming to notice her reaction at all. "And the fact we don't yet know everything about one another will only make it more exciting when we're married. Sometimes, I think that was the problem Anora and I had. We grew up together, and by the time we were wed, we already knew everything there was to know about one another. In some ways we were almost like brother and sister."

Rhianna doubted that was true. Surely, Anora hadn't known Cailan would be caught in compromising positions with serving women.

"But that won't happen with us." Again, he squeezed her hand, and she struggled against the urge to yank it out of his grasp. "For you and I, getting to know one another will be a grand adventure! One we'll take together, my love."

Her mind flashed back to the night at Fort Drakon, when Loghain had said those words to her. _My love_. From Cailan, they seemed cheap and hollow and she knew he couldn't possibly mean them. Then again, perhaps Loghain hadn't really meant them, either, if he'd been so willing to give her up. Perhaps she had a twisted sense of what it meant when people said things. Perhaps words were never something to be trusted.

Cailan was staring at her, and she realized he was waiting for her to say something. "Perhaps," she agreed. "I mean, of course, I look forward to getting to know you better . . . Cailan."

"I'm very glad to hear that."

He leaned close, reaching up to grasp her chin in his hand. Then he pressed his lips to hers.

Rhianna remained very still, not responding to the kiss, but not pulling away, either. Cailan's lips were soft and smooth, but cold, and she was hit with a yearning for Loghain so strong she could taste it. She didn't want another man's lips on hers. Not any other man, not ever, and certainly not Cailan's. And now he wanted to marry her and she couldn't. She couldn't do this, she didn't want him, she would never want him, but she didn't know if she could say no.

Her eyes filled with sudden tears, and she sniffled once. Cailan pulled away, and saw her expression.

"Rhianna, love." He smiled, reaching up to gently stroke her face. "I'm sorry. I know this must come as such a shock to you. And I'm a clod, throwing it all at you at once." He laughed then, seemed to take her emotional state as something charming. At least he wasn't offended she had started to cry when he kissed her. "Let's talk about this again tomorrow, shall we? Once you've had some time to grow accustomed to the idea."

Rhianna nodded, genuinely grateful for the reprieve. "Yes. Thank you. That would be . . . I would appreciate that very much."

He looked into her face, and his smile slipped away, replaced by an expression Rhianna couldn't parse. Again, he reached out and ran his fingers along the side of her face.

"You are so beautiful, Rhianna. So very, very beautiful."

Beautiful. That was a word Loghain had never spoken to her. When she was young, he said she was "pretty," but since she had grown up, never once did he tell her that he liked the way she looked. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps her skin was too pale, and her hair too dark. His wife, after all, had been blonde, and probably much, much prettier than Rhianna.

But Cailan sounded so sincere, and Rhianna's face grew warm. Surely he meant it, he really did find her beautiful. It felt good to hear someone say it.

This time, when she smiled at Cailan, it wasn't entirely forced.

‹›‹O›‹›

Later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, Rhianna found herself unable to sleep.

The rest of the day had gone by in something of a blur. Cailan was kind, and kept to his promise to give her time to "get accustomed to the idea," so they talked of insignificant things as they finished their lunch, and later, on the ride back to Highever.

When they returned the castle, not a word was said about the proposal, but over dinner she sensed her family looking at her strangely, Father in particular, as though he expected to see something different. But that was silly; how could he have guessed Cailan would ask something like this?

And of course, she was still reeling from the letter she had received from Loghain. She felt scared and overwhelmed and lost. Completely adrift, as though everything she had believed to be true in the world had turned out to be false, and she wasn't sure how to start believing in things again, in all of these new and unfamiliar things that now constituted her life.

What she wanted to do, what she needed, was to talk to Loghain, and not even just about their own relationship. He would know what to do, how to fix this thing with Cailan, this thing she didn't want and had no idea how to stop. But he wasn't here. Probably, he would never be here again, and she missed him, desperately. Loghain, who had somehow always been there when she needed him, and whose presence she had counted on.

Of course, if Loghain were here, they would be betrothed, and none of this would be happening in the first place.

Perhaps she had taken him too much for granted.

Or perhaps she had fooled herself all along, fooled herself into thinking Loghain loved her, when he never really had. The more she thought about it, the likelier that seemed. If he loved her, wouldn't he have fought to keep her?

She fought back fresh tears, angry with herself for letting these thoughts batter away at her, again and again and again.

It was hardly a surprise that she wasn't at all sleepy, and lying here in the dark wasn't likely to change that. She climbed out of bed, and slipped into a dressing gown. A cup of warm milk with chocolate would be welcome, and a pilgrimage to the kitchen would give her something to do for a few minutes at least.

Her feet bare, she and Dane made their way through the castle.

When she entered the kitchen, lit dimly by the tamped down cooking fire, she was startled to find someone else already there. A man, with his back to her, reaching up for one of the pots hanging on the wall. It didn't appear to be one of the kitchen servants.

Hello?" she murmured.

The man spun around, knocking a large soup kettle off of the table with his arm. The kettle crashed to the floor with a deafening "clang," and Dane was startled into barking once, very loudly.

The man gasped for breath. "What? Who . . . who's there?"

Squinting into the low light, Rhianna realized it was Bann Teagan.

"Bann Teagan? Is that you? Don't be alarmed. It's just me, Rhianna."

"Maker's blood," he chucked, and bent to retrieve the fallen kettle. "That's a bit ridiculous, isn't it, how easily startled I am?"

"What's all this?" A new voice rang out across the kitchen. Rhianna and Teagan both turned to see Nan, holding up a lantern, frowning at them from the inner doorway that led to her sleeping quarters. "Rhianna, is that you? What in the world are you doing?"

"Yes, Nan, it's me. I've just come down for a cup of chocolate and found Bann Teagan here making a ruckus."

"Oh," he laughed, "is that what happened here?"

"Of course it is," Rhianna replied. "Nan knows I'm never responsible for anything loud or boisterous. Or disruptive. In any way."

"Yes, don't I just know it," the older woman replied. "Not you, nor your beastly dog. Just what in the world are all of you doing up at this hour? You've come for chocolate? Now?" Nan let out a loud, pained sigh, as she crossed the room to where Teagan stood. She reached up to pull down the pot he had been reaching for just a minute earlier. "You couldn't do this at a decent hour?"

Rhianna hurried to her side, and took the pot from her hands. "I said I came for chocolate. That doesn't mean you need to bother with it. I'll make it myself, Nan, and whatever Bann Teagan wants as well. You go back to bed. Just because he and I can't sleep, doesn't mean you should have to suffer the same fate." Nan frowned at her, and looked as though she was going to argue, but Rhianna added, "What? Do you think I'm incapable of warming milk on my own?"

"Well, sometimes with you I do wonder." Then she let out a breath. "All right. But clean up after yourselves." She sounded cross, but when Nan gave her a quick hug, Rhianna knew she and Bann Teagan were forgiven.

When Nan left the room, Rhianna considered the pot in her hands. "So," she asked Teagan, "just what was it you were after?"

"I had intended nothing as complicated as chocolate. Merely hot tea."

"Is that still what you want? Or would you like chocolate instead."

"Is that trick question? Of course I would rather have chocolate. Is there anyone alive who would honestly choose tea over chocolate?" He grinned at her. "How can I help?"

She chuckled, and pointed to the cold box in the corner. "Look in there for milk." Rhianna went into one of the pantries and found a block of chocolate imported from Rivain, and the pot of honey, and in just a few minutes she and Teagan settled themselves on benches at the end of the long table that dominated the center of the room, each with a mug of steaming hot chocolate.

"So, you can't sleep tonight?" Teagan asked conversationally.

"No," Rhianna admitted. "I have far too much on my mind. What about you? Why are you still up?"

"I'm not sure, really. I don't usually have difficulty getting to sleep. Perhaps it's because I didn't leave the castle today."

"Oh that's right," Rhianna said with a lilt to her voice. "I trust you're feeling better?" She fixed him with a look that made it clear she knew he'd not actually been sick in the first place.

He chuckled. "Yes. I'm feeling much better. Thank you." His grin looked just a bit embarrassed.

"You know, you ought to coach the king more carefully before you allow him to make up stories about you. He said you'd had too much to drink last night and that's why you were under the weather. You'll get a bad reputation that way."

"My nephew," Teagan said, with a shake of his head. "Somehow I'm not surprised. Ah well. Hopefully this one time won't damage my reputation beyond repair. I'd hate for you to think badly of me."

"You needn't worry about that. This time." Rhianna smiled, but then her face grew serious. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Did you know the purpose of Cailan's visit before you came to Highever?"

"Oh." He paused. "Are you asking if I knew what Cailan intended to talk to you about today?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "No. He didn't mention anything about it until last night, when he asked me to pretend to be sick this morning."

"I see. Not that it matters, I suppose."

"So, he did talk you today?"

"Yes, he did."

"You don't seem . . . well, it's not any of my business, is it?"

"I suppose at some point it is," she shrugged. "That goes along with being a teyrn's daughter. What I do with my life becomes everyone's business. Especially now."

"Perhaps," he agreed. "But that doesn't mean I have to be nosy."

"It's all right," Rhianna assured him. "I don't mind."

"All right. In that case, may I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"What about Loghain Mac Tir?"

Rhianna went very still, except for her eyes, which grew wider. "What do you mean? What has Loghain got to do with anything?"

"Well, it's just I had thought . . . oh . . . now this is awkward." He ran a hand through his hair. "Do you remember the day of the royal hunt? I was in the barn, sorting through tack, when two people came into the stall just beside where I happened to be sitting, out of view. Before I could get up and announce myself, they started . . . well, they had clearly come into the barn for a few minutes of privacy. So, I sat quietly, thinking it would be less of an embarrassment to all concerned if they didn't know I was there."

"Maker's breath. You head all that? Rhianna's eyes filled with tears at the memory of that morning.

"Yes." He reached out and put his hand on her arm. "Forgive me, Rhianna. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's not you." She sobbed once, putting a hand over her mouth and trying to keep from breaking down into tears. She shook her head as if to clear it. "To answer your question, I don't think there is anything between Loghain and I. Not anymore. Especially not now." A single tear escaped her eye and ran slowly down the side of her face and half way down her chin before she reached up to wipe it away. "Just before we left Denerim, Loghain asked my father for my hand. But Father said no. He said he didn't believe Loghain could make me happy. Which isn't true. I know it isn't true, because Loghain made me happy in countless ways over the whole of my life. I'll never understand why Father would think that would change after we were married." Her shoulders heaved softly, but she struggled to keep herself under control.

With a ragged breath she added, "I had thought it wouldn't matter. I told Loghain I didn't care what my father said, that I wanted to marry him anyway. But I don't think . . . I'm not sure he wants me after all." Rhianna looked at Teagan, his features blurred through her tears, not sure why she was telling him any of this. But he was calm, and seemed genuinely concerned, and had always been so kind to her in the past. And perhaps it was just too much for her to keep locked away inside. "The letter last night, from Gwaren? It was from Loghain, telling me he . . . well, that it was over between us. Apparently, he decided I'm not . . . what he wants. That I'm not worth fighting for." She sniffled once, and then began to sob quietly, her eyes heavy with unshed tears.

"I find that impossible to believe," Teagan murmured. "From what I heard that day in the stable, I can't imagine Loghain would just . . . walk away." He paused, putting a slight pressure on her arm with the hand that rested there. "I know if it were me, I would have done anything to keep you. I'm not sure I've ever known a woman more worthy of fighting for. Other than my sister, Rowan."

Rhianna laughed softly through her tears. "Thank you. That's kind of you to say. And until yesterday, I thought Loghain felt the same. Even after the letter arrived, I'd considered going to Gwaren, trying to talk to him face to face. I suppose the idea is still there in the back of my head. But I don't think there's any point to it now. I don't see how I can say no to Cailan, and I don't think Loghain wants me anymore, anyway.

"And I don't know what's worse. Losing the man I wanted to marry, or losing the man who has been my best friend my whole life."

No longer could she stop the tears, and she put her face in her hands as she let them fall. Teagan moved from the other side of the table to sit beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders, and they sat like that until all the tears were shed.

After several minutes, her breath ragged, she sat up again, and tried to smile at the man next to her as she wiped the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her dressing gown.

"I'm so sorry. Sorry you have to see me like this."

"Don't apologize, my lady. This must be horrible for you. I had wondered last night. When you returned after receiving the letter you looked as though . . . well, I had the feeling something had upset you." The hand at her shoulder squeezed gently, and Rhianna reached up and covered his hand with her own for just a moment. "And now, you've got Cailan to deal with."

"I don't want to marry the king," she whispered, glancing up at Teagan's face, before looking back down at the table. "I mean, he's all right. I know he's not a bad man. But he doesn't . . . I don't feel anything for him. He kissed me today, and I felt . . . nothing. And he's married to a woman I have considered a friend for years. Anora awarded me Calenhad's Cross, and this is how I'm to repay her? And how much will Loghain hate me once he finds out?" She took a deep breath, and swallowed hard. "And I hate the thought of being married to someone who won't be faithful to me." She looked at Teagan out of the corner of her eye; his expression didn't change. "I know about the serving girls and visits to the Pearl. If he was unfaithful to Anora, I can't imagine he'll be faithful to me. I'll be stuck in Denerim, and I hate it there." She fell silent for a long moment, then sighed. "But it's not as though I have a choice, do I?" She looked directly into Teagan's eyes. "He's the king. I know what my father will say when he finds out. 'The Couslands always do our duty'."

"Your father?" Teagan sounded confused. "But your father already knows."

"What?"

"Oh." Teagan closed his eyes briefly, and ran a hand across his face. "Oh. I hope I haven't spoken out of turn."

"What are you talking about? Tell me. What does my father know?"

He turned to face her again. "Yesterday when Cailan told me of his intentions toward you, he said your father had already agreed to the match. That they had spoken together in Denerim, and it was all worked out."

"In Denerim?" Rhianna's voice was barely above a whisper. "But that means when he talked to Loghain, he . . . he already knew."

Rhianna's stomach lurched, and for a moment she feared would be sick. "Oh, Maker. F-father knew all along. It never was about Loghain not making me happy. It's because Father promised me to the king, without ever even asking me what I wanted." She covered her hand with her mouth and tried to keep her breath from coming too quickly.

Teagan grasped her shoulders and turned her slightly to face him. "Rhianna, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have told you."

"Why not? Don't I deserve to know I'm nothing more to my father than a . . . broodmare? That my feelings don't matter." She gasped for breath. "That he doesn't care he's torn me away from the man I love to throw me to a man who will cheat on me and make my life miserable?" Her breath came in sobs, but there were no tears now. She was far too shocked and angry for tears. "Just so I can be queen." She spat out the last word as though it was a curse.

And in way, it was.

She glanced at the half-finished mug of chocolate in front of her that had long since grown cold. Then she looked up at the man beside her; his eyes were filled with concern and regret. And perhaps some sadness as well. Of all the people in the world, Teagan was one of very few who had any knowledge of what she and Loghain had shared, one of the few who could truly begin to fathom how much this hurt.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered now. Everything had changed, and there was no going back.

She couldn't go to Gwaren. Even if Loghain still wanted her, she could hardly run away and marry him now. If she'd already been promised, that was not something that could easily be taken back. The consequences of refusing Cailan might be unbearably high. The last time a Cousland had defied their king, half the family had been massacred.

No. She had no choice. She would marry Cailan, and become the Queen of Ferelden. And Loghain would hate her for replacing his daughter, and that bridge would be burned without any hope of ever being rebuilt.

Her father had done the one thing he'd always promised not to do, and Rhianna would have to live with the consequences.

The conversation she had with Loghain in the garden of the Baranti manor crept into her mind. And her comment about noble women being like prostitutes. That's exactly what had happened to her.

Rhianna Cousland was the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, and still she was little more than a high-priced whore, being sold by her father to the highest bidder. Why just a teyrnir, when she could be queen?

With that thought, more tears did come. She looked up at Bann Teagan, and then leaned against him, needing comfort. Teagan's arms closed around her, and he held her as she cried. Cried for the bright future that could have been and was now lost, and for the bleak future that would be.

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Many, many thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to my lovely reviewers: Melysande, KrystylSky, Kira Tamarion, SwomeeSwan, Seth Motley, Psyche Sinclair, DjinnieGenie, Arsinoe de Blassenville, KatDancer2, Hannahhobnob, GLCW2, Milly-finalfantasy, Rena Hawke, Dragonmactir, Tyrannosaurustex, and a Guest

I would apologize again, but by now I think you're used to the pain I'm inflicting with these chapters. ;)

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	66. What was now within her reach

_**18 Kingsway, 9:20 Dragon  
**__**Highever**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

When Rhianna came downstairs the next morning, Bryce thought she seemed entirely back to her old self. Her smile was bright, and she moved gracefully through the room wishing everyone a good morning. She lifted Oren and spun him around, promising him a "training session" on the practice field later that afternoon. She greeted the king and Bann Teagan warmly, and had a hug and a kiss for her mother.

Thank the Maker. Perhaps this unpleasantness brought on by Loghain Mac Tir was finally at an end. Bryce knew that Cailan had spoken with her yesterday during the excursion they took together – Cailan had admitted as much yesterday evening - and Rhianna now knew what wonderful things the future held for her.

Relief flooded him; it was high time everything went back to normal. The past month had been dreadful, what with Loghain's proposal and its aftermath. Seeing his daughter so miserable had broken his heart time and time again. It was still unfathomable that she could have developed a romantic attachment to that man, but there had been nothing to do about it but wait for Cailan's visit, and the revelation it would bring.

And what a revelation. It was genuinely the last thing Bryce expected at this time, but who could blame him for wanting to grasp this opportunity for his daughter with both hands?

When Bryce had arrived at the palace the night before they left Denerim, he'd been shown to a small dining room where he and Cailan dined privately, just as the king had promised. It was a pleasant meal, and Cailan chatted amiably as usual about a variety of things. The dwarven king wanted a meeting, but a trip to Orzammar wasn't a good idea at this time. Cailan had decided to allow Nicola Baranti's guard to conduct a purge of the Alienage; with any luck, they would uncover the murderer of Bann Gordon and the Baranti lad. How exciting it had been to finally meet Duncan of the Grey Wardens, after all the stories that were told about Maric's adventures in the Deep Roads.

Then Cailan turned to another topic.

"Your daughter is really quite remarkable, isn't she?" The king's eyes were bright, a sign he was not exaggerating his belief in this claim.

"I think so, of course," Bryce admitted with a chuckle. "Then again, I might be a bit biased, seeing as I am her father."

"I wouldn't say you're biased at all. I can't imagine anyone who knows Rhianna - really knows her - holding a different opinion. She's so well spoken and witty, and she's done so much for the Coastlands, working tirelessly to help with the operation of the teyrnir. And brave! So brave, fighting darkspawn." He took a sip of his wine. "And she has become a beautiful young woman. I remember thinking how pretty she was as a child. But now? She is absolutely stunning."

Bryce hadn't responded; he hardly knew what to say to this, although he was alarmed by the king's mention of Rhianna's appearance.

"And, of course, there's that thing she can do," Cailan added.

"That thing? What . . . thing?"

"With animals. The way she talks to them. It's one of the most amazing things I've ever witnessed."

Bryce lifted a brow. "You know about that?"

"Oh yes. On the royal hunt, Teagan got himself into a bit of a pinch with an angry boar. It charged him, and for a moment I genuinely thought the creature would gore him to death with its tusks. But Rhianna ran right in front of it - right in front of a charging boar! - and told it to stop. And it stopped! She saved my uncle's life, just like something out of a storybook. I can't believe she doesn't tell everyone what she can do. It's just marvelous."

Rhianna had run in front of a charging boar? She must have genuinely feared for Teagan's life to be so open about her gift. "She does prefer to keep quiet about it. At first, we worried it was magic, and feared we might lose her to the Circle, but apparently it's not any sort of magic at all. Still, it is a rather inexplicable gift, and Rhianna isn't the sort of girl who likes having a fuss made over her."

"Isn't she?" He chuckled. "I suspect she will have to get used to it sooner or later. Sooner, really. Having a fuss made over her."

"What do you mean?" A vague feeling of dread seeped across his chest.

Cailan smiled, the sort of smile that made it obvious he knew a secret, an exciting secret he intended to share because it was simply too good to keep to himself. It was a childish smile, somewhat reminiscent of his father; Maric, too, often had a playful, child-like air about him. But Maric's demeanor had been tempered by a darkness forced upon him by the Rebellion. The late king had known there were times for play, and times to be serious.

Cailan, on the other hand, seemed to never find any topic truly serious. He'd gushed about how legendary it all sounded when he'd learned about the darkspawn; Maric's first thought would have been for the safety of his people. Not that Cailan didn't care about Ferelden. Of course the lad cared, but he so often failed to realize the impact of things. It was as if he viewed his life as something out of an adventure story, and the Maker as a friendly narrator who would ensure things remained exciting without anyone ever really getting hurt.

Cailan leaned closer, and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper. "That's why I asked you to come here tonight, Bryce. I want to tell you something very exciting. To . . . ask you something."

"Ask me what?" Bryce felt his eyes narrow slightly, as the sense of dread grew more palpable.

"You know I care very much for my wife." Cailan's voice and expression were earnest. "Anora and I have been friends as long as I can remember. But we've been married now for four years, and she has yet to provide me - to provide Ferelden - with an heir. My uncle has been making noises about it for some time now - Eamon, I mean - and the other day we got into quite a nasty argument. But after he left Denerim, I've thought more about it, and I can see now that he's right. It is time for me to set Anora aside - no matter how much I still care about her - and take a new bride."

What in the Maker's name was this? He was considering setting the queen aside? Of course, people grumbled about the lack of an heir, but such things took time, and four years wasn't all that long. It was hardly surprising Eamon would be the one to plant the seed in Cailan's head, though; the arl had made little secret of his dislike for the queen.

"It's not as though Anora won't have a place to go," Cailan continued. "Not that I would ever demand she leave Denerim, but I can't imagine she would want to say. Gwaren has no heir, and I certainly don't foresee Loghain doing anything to change that. So, really, it works out for the best for everyone. I expect Anora will be relieved, to tell you the truth, once she gets used to the idea. It's a lot of pressure on her, and I'm sure she's hurt by the nasty things people say: that she's cursed, barren because she's the daughter of a commoner. Not that I believe there is any truth to it, of course. But her life will be easier once we're divorced."

Cailan's logic was baffling, along with his utter certainty that everyone, including Anora, would be happy about such a drastic move.

"And," the king he continued, "I will admit that getting to know your daughter during the past few weeks has made this decision easier on me." He leaned forward, a wide smile on his face. "I want to marry Rhianna. Looking back, I can see I should have married her in the first place. Not that I didn't love Anora. I did. I do. And Rhianna was very young when my father died. But she is a noblewoman by birth, and would have been the better choice. For Ferelden's sake, I mean. Eamon tried to convince me of it, right after Father disappeared, but I was young and stubborn. Now, I can make it happen. I intend to make it happen. To make Rhianna my wife." He paused, and gave Bryce a sheepish grin. "With your permission, of course. You haven't already made an arrangement for her, have you? With someone else?"

"No." Bryce shook his head slowly. "There is no other arrangement."

"Then you agree?" Cailan's eyes were bright and eager.

Did he agree? It was a bit too soon in the discussion to answer that question.

"Have you spoken with your wife about this? Does Anora know what you intend to do?"

"Maker, no! I can't tell her, not yet. Once word gets out, her father is likely to create quite a storm about it. Eamon thinks he might even try and get the Landsmeet to refuse to allow a divorce. Not that I expect this to be a problem; the Landsmeet will see that Ferelden needs an heir, and therefore needs a queen who can provide one. Even so, I don't want word of this to get out, not until everything is in place. Once you've agreed Rhianna will marry me, I can begin making arrangements for an annulment. Then, we'll do it all quickly, so there is as little time for hurt feelings as possible."

Hurt feelings? Is that what he thought this boiled down to? There would be far-reaching implications to an upheaval of this sort, far more than Bryce could hope to sort through in his head during the next few minutes. What was clear, however, was Cailan's sincerity about setting Anora aside in favor of Rhianna.

"What is it, exactly," Bryce said carefully, "you are asking of me tonight? Do you want me to speak to Rhianna? See how she feels about such a match?"

"Oh, no. No, I would prefer to speak to her myself. I can't imagine she wouldn't be happy about it. I am the king, and," he said with a sheepish grin, "women usually seem to find me charming. I'm sure she'll be pleased. All I would like from you now is your promise to give your permission for us to marry when the time comes. And that you won't make an arrangement with anyone else in the meantime."

Would Rhianna welcome a marriage with Cailan? Even before knowing anything about her dalliance with Loghain, Bryce had worried that she would not immediately be pleased with the idea. She'd always spoken kindly of the king, but it was obvious she thought him unintelligent. And she'd said countless times that she had no desire whatsoever to be the queen.

Even so, she would be a magnificent queen. Not that Ferelden didn't already have an excellent queen in Anora, but if Cailan was determined to replace her, Rhianna was the best possible choice to put in her place. And while Rhianna didn't enjoy politics, not Denerim politics anyway, she would be good at them, and would step into the role as gracefully as she had done everything else that had ever been asked of her. Marrying Cailan would grant her real responsibilities and important duties. The life of a bann's wife, or even an arl's, was beneath her. Rhianna was born for greatness; what better for her than to become the queen? And no doubt all of these things, and Cailan himself in time, would bring her happiness in the long run.

Even so, could he do this? Could Bryce put his daughter in the middle of what would surely be the country's biggest scandal in several hundred years? He couldn't remember any Fereldan king ever before setting aside a queen. And, regardless of what Cailan thought would happen, there was bound to be dissension in the Landsmeet. This was likely to throw the country into chaos unless Cailan handled things very, very carefully. Handled things with the sort of care Cailan didn't really possess. Of course, as the future father-in-law, Bryce would be on hand to guide him, and hopefully help divert the worst of the damage.

When all was said and done, however, there was really only one possible answer. Cailan was the king. The king Bryce had sworn to serve faithfully, in whatever capacity necessary. That was how the Couslands had remained in favor for the past two hundred years: by doing whatever the king asked. Not since King Arland had massacred much of the family had a Cousland dared speak out too strenuously against the monarch. And this was hardly an unpleasant thing being asked. Rhianna would be the Queen of Ferelden; a higher honor was not possible.

If being queen was what the Maker intended for his daughter, then so be it.

"All right," Bryce agreed. "You have my word. You have my permission to marry Rhianna, and no other arrangement will be made for her in the meantime."

"Excellent!" Cailan clapped Bryce on the shoulder. "Within the month I will make a trip to Highever. I'll bring Teagan along for company, and say we're going hunting. Surely, that won't be a lie; the hunting in your woods is excellent. And I'll speak to her then. Give her the happy news."

Happy news. For those few hours, Bryce had believed Rhianna would be happy about this. Of course he'd expected some surprise on her part, a few minor qualms perhaps at the prospect of marrying Cailan under such unusual circumstances. But he'd believed she would welcome the idea in time.

Then, Loghain had proposed.

And everything had fallen apart.

Rhianna's desperation, her pleading. Her insistence that she would only be happy - could only be happy - with Loghain. All the way home from Denerim - when she was willing to meet his eye or interact with him in any way - he heard nothing from her but grief. It had been infuriating and exhausting and ridiculous.

Then, unbelievably, there was more grief from Eleanor when he'd arrived in Highever. He'd tried to convince his wife, show her that it made sense in every regard for Rhianna to marry Cailan. But instead of seeing the benefit, Eleanor chastised him for making this decision without her, and for insulting their daughter by belittling her feelings. And perhaps Eleanor was right. But surely, once Rhianna got over the initial disappointment and shock, it wouldn't matter. Once she knew that she would soon be Queen of Ferelden.

Thankfully, it appeared he'd been correct. She now knew what the future held, and watching her move through the room, she looked content. Happy, even. She teased Fergus about the length of his hair, tugging gently at a strand that had grown longer than he usually allowed. She stepped up behind Oriana, who was sitting in a chair near the fire, and wrapped her arms around her sister-in-law's shoulders, and planted a kiss on the top of the older woman's head. Her eyes were bright, and her smile cheerful, and there was a bounce in her step as she moved easily through the room.

Yes. Thank the Maker. Rhianna was going to marry Cailan, and now that she knew this, understood fully what her future would hold, she was happy about it.

Finally, Rhianna looked in Bryce's direction.

"Good morning, Pup," he greeted her, an expansive feeling of happiness flowing through him, as though an enormous weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

But her smile - the brilliant smile with which she had graced all the others - faded.

"Father." Her voice might have sounded normal to anyone who didn't know her, but Bryce knew her more than well enough to hear the coldness in her tone. A coldness unlike any he had ever heard from her before.

She turned her back on him, and knelt down to speak with Oren, the playful tone back in her voice.

Bryce's good cheer evaporated, and the weight crashed down on him again, along with a sick feeling in his stomach.

Something was wrong. Not only was something wrong, but something was _different_. This wasn't the grief-stricken girl he'd lived with for the past month, angry with him in bursts, or prowling the castle with desperation in her eyes. Never before, not once in her entire life could he remember her speaking to him with such a lack of warmth. It hadn't felt like anger; it felt like hatred. Hatred directed at him.

And only at him.

A trickle of fear ran down his spine.

Cailan had spoken with her the previous day; he'd told Bryce and Eleanor as much last night, after everyone else had turned in for the night. Not only that, but Rhianna had confided in Eleanor the contents of Loghain's letter. He had, apparently, ended things with Rhianna in quite a final manner. Surely, she could see that marrying Cailan would be best for Rhianna herself, as well as Ferelden. No doubt it might take her a bit of time to adjust to things the way they were now, but she certainly looked happy enough as she moved through the room.

Except when she had spoken to her father. All the rage she'd expressed over the past month was nothing in comparison to the coldness in her voice when she'd greeted him.

"So." Bryce kept his voice as cheerful as possible. "What do our guests have planned for today?"

Cailan spoke right up. "Rhianna and I talked about going sailing today."

"Sailing?" Bann Teagan caught Rhianna's eye briefly. "I like the idea of a day out on the water."

"Are you sure, Uncle?" The king sounded concerned, disappointed almost. "Sure you're feeling up to it, I mean? You still look a bit pale."

"Oh, no, I'm much recovered," he assured the king. "If you'll recall, I didn't have any spirits to drink last night. Just a warm mug of chocolate at bedtime." Again, he glanced at Rhianna. "And I'm looking forward to a day outside, after being stuck in the castle yesterday."

Cailan's smile faltered, as though he were disappointed. Rhianna, on the other hand, smiled - a rather mischievous, almost cruel smile – but only for a moment before it was replaced with a more placid expression.

Then she leaned close to whisper something in Cailan's ear, and immediately the frown left his face. He looked at her, smiling broadly, and nodded, apparently pleased by whatever she had said.

What in the world was going on here?

"I want to go sailing! Will you take me along, Auntie! Please?" Oren had perfected his tone: just enough pleading to be endearing, but not so much it would annoy, and carry the risk of being denied. Something he had learned from Rhianna, no doubt. She had always been good at convincing people to do what she wanted.

"Of course, Pumpkin," she said, picking the boy up and carrying him against her hip. "Why don't we make a family outing of it?" She turned her eyes on Bryce. Her tone was light, but there was something cold and hard in her gaze. "What about you, Father? Do you fancy a day out on the water?"

Normally, he would have declined, but his curiosity was piqued.

"Yes. I think I do. Who else is coming with us?"

‹›‹O›‹›

In the end, it turned into a true family outing, with all the Couslands, plus two of the king's guards, joining Cailan and his uncle. Wrapped up in warm cloaks, with extra blankets to fight off the chill winter winds, and three baskets filled with food to feed so many bellies, they set a course for one of the islands in the bay, the one that held the second set of local Alamarri ruins.

As soon as they were out on the water, Fergus got up to adjust the sails, but Rhianna asked him to sit down.

"Cailan and I are going to sail the boat today."

"What?" The king laughed nervously. "I don't know anything about boats."

"Well then," she said brightly. "It's high time you learned."

Rhianna was patient as she pointed out all of the names of the various parts of the boat - the mainsail and the jib, both of which were attached to the single mast. "To the left is port, and to the right is starboard. And if you get confused, just remember that 'port' has the same number of letters as 'left'."

At first, she allowed him to sit at the rudder, and steer as she directed. Then, she gave that task to Oren (assisted by Fergus) and showed Cailan how to hold the ropes and pull on them when she required it.

Finally, she put him on the spot.

"All right," she announced about halfway to their destination. "It's time to for you tack."

The King of Ferelden looked vaguely terrified. "I'm not sure I even remember what that means."

Rhianna laughed. "It just means we're turning the boat through the wind. Do you see how we're too far to port - to the left?" She pointed at the island, which was now to the starboard side of the boat. "That was fine for a while. With the wind where it is, we can't sail straight for the island. So, we went that way for a bit, and now we need to compensate in the other direction, and overshoot that way for a while." She pointed to the right of the island looming ahead. "We'll do it enough times, back and forth, and eventually we'll end up exactly where we want to be. So now, you're going to tack. I'll talk you through it. Don't worry."

His forehead creased, but then he shrugged. "All right. What's the worst that can happen?"

"I won't answer that question, since the absolute worst is rather bad. But you'll be fine," she chuckled.

And he was. Rhianna talked Cailan through pulling the jib sheet out of its cleat as the boat turned through the wind. There was a bit of excitement when Cailan had difficulty pulling the sheet in quickly enough on the other side, and the boat began to slow. They were pushed sideways for just a bit before gaining enough speed to catch the wind again, and Cailan nearly panicked, but at the end of it they were sailing north, with the island to the left ("I mean _port_!" Cailan corrected himself), and the king was beaming with pride.

"Can I do it again in a bit?" he asked, like a child who had discovered a new game.

"Of course," Rhianna laughed. "You can do it all the way to the island, and all the way back home again, if you like."

When they arrived at the island, lunch was a pleasant affair. They laid out their picnic on a beach not far from where they moored the boat, and everyone ate their fill from the baskets more than generously packed by Nan. Afterwards, the adults conversed easily, while Oren and Dane played together in the gentle waves that lapped at the shore.

After a while, Rhianna stood and walked to the water's edge. Bryce was surprised when Teagan got up and joined her. She smiled at the bann, before looking out over the water again. Her demeanor had been determinedly cheerful throughout the morning, but now she also looked tired.

"How are you, Rhianna?" Teagan asked quietly, so quietly Bryce could only just make out the words.

She turned and smiled at him once again, looking even more exhausted than before, but grateful as well. "As well as can be expected. And you? I trust you were finally able to get to sleep last night."

"Yes. Sooner than you did, I'm guessing."

"Heh. Yes, I'm sure you're right about that. But I'll manage." She paused. "Thank you. Again." Her smile definitely looked grateful this time.

"You're more than welcome. And if there's ever anything I can do . . ."

"I'll remember that." She gave Teagan one of the saddest smiles Bryce had ever seen. She took a deep breath, and her smile brightened. "Perhaps you would you like to learn to sail the boat on way home? Assuming we can get Cailan to share duties on the jib. Or do you already know how to sail? You do live on the shores of Lake Calenhad, after all."

"I do know how to sail," Tegan replied. "I make the trip from Rainesfere to Oswin regularly. Which is probably for the best; I have no desire to wrestle with my nephew for the honor of sailing the ship this afternoon."

"He does seem to be enjoying himself. I'm a bit surprised no one taught him how to sail before now."

"I tried, once or twice. He never seemed particularly interested. I suspect it's not the sailing that interests him today, either, but that he's trying to make a good impression." Teagan looked out over the waves. "What's that?" he asked, pointing out at a dark shape moving through a breaking wave.

"Oh!" Rhianna's voice sounded delighted. "That's a sea lion!" She turned to where her nephew and hound were playing. "Oren? Come here!" The boy hurried to stand beside her. "Do you want to make a new friend?"

"Yes!"

"Well, then you - and you, Dane," she eyed her hound fondly, "must be very quiet and not make any fast moves, all right?"

"Yes, Auntie," the boy readily agreed.

Rhianna looked out at the ocean, and less than a minute later, a dark shape moved quickly toward her, riding inside a wave that crashed onto the shore. Something dark and shiny lurched toward her, moving on two angled front flippers, and dragging its tail behind. Cailan, who had been chatting amiably with Eleanor, was on his feet in a moment.

"What in the world is that? I've never seen a seal like that before."

"It's not a seal," Rhianna explained, dropping to her knees to be eye to eye with the creature. "It's a sea lion. There's a huge colony of them nearby." She reached over and allowed the animal to sniff at her hand, and then rewarded it by stroking it firmly on the back of the head.

"May I pet the sea lion, Auntie?"

Rhianna smiled at the boy. "Yes, you may. Just be very gentle." Tentatively, Oren reached out one of his chubby little hands, and ran it across the animal's slippery neck. The sea lion responded by nudging the boy with his nose in a playful gesture that made Oren laugh.

"May I pet the sea lion, too?" Cailan's voice was hardly less excited than Oren's had been.

"Of course," Rhianna agreed.

Cailan, too, felt the animal's neck, and ran his hand down its sleek back. The sea lion reached up and rubbed its whiskers right along Cailan's jaw, causing everyone in the party to laugh.

The sea lion stayed to play for a few more minutes, before slipping back into the sea. Then, the Couslands and their guests began to pack up the remnants of lunch.

"Why don't we all hike up to the ruins?" Fergus suggested.

His announcement was met with approval from almost everyone. Rhianna, however, turned to Cailan and whispered something in his ear, and he nodded.

"Cailan and I are going to skip the ruins," she said casually. "We're going to see if we can't spot any giant sea turtles from up on the headlands."

"Sea turtles? Oh, I want to see a giant turtle!" Oren cried. "Can I come with you, Auntie? With you and the king?"

Rhianna knelt down to look right into his face. "Not this time, Pumpkin. You need to go with your mum and dad. Not to mention Bann Teagan. I don't think he knows anything about the squirrels."

Oren nodded, and Teagan knelt down beside them as well. "What's this about squirrels?"

"There are special squirrels here on the island," Oren explained proudly, as if he were personally responsible for that fact. "They're very small, and stripy, and they have spots along the side. Here," he pointed at the side of his own body, "and here. The squirrels that live near the castle don't have any spots at all!"

"I should very much like to see your squirrels," Teagan said.

Oren sighed, which he accomplished by blowing a large amount of breath out of his mouth. "All right. I suppose I can skip the turtles this once." Taking one of Teagan's hands in his own, he announced, "We're ready to go. Look out squirrels, here we come!"

As Oren and Teagan led the way up the path, Bryce glanced at his daughter, who stood beside the king. She had just a hint of a smile on her face as she watched her nephew pull the Bann of Rainesfere along in his wake. She seemed fine, in a remarkably good mood, actually. And apparently she wanted to spend time alone with Cailan.

Rhianna bent down and whispered something to her hound. The dog looked up at her with an expression that looked argumentative, but then he huffed softly, and ran up the path to walk beside Oren.

Just as Bryce was ready to follow the others, he looked back once more at his daughter. For a moment, before she stood straight again, her smile faded. Her mouth was slack and her cheeks were gaunt and shadowy, and her eyelids sagged. She looked tired, more tired than he could remember seeing her in a great many years.

Then, with noticeable effort, she returned the smile to her face before she stood and took the arm the king offered her. Together they headed further up the beach, to the path that would take them to the top of the low cliff surrounding this end of the island.

He watched them go, feeling unsettled and scared. Was Rhianna's good cheer – all of it – merely an act put on for the benefit of their guests? And if so, why? How could she not be happy about this? Perhaps she just needed some time, time to adjust to the idea.

But what if she didn't? What if he'd been wrong, and she was genuinely unhappy?

Just what had he done?

‹›‹o›‹O›‹o›‹›

As they climbed the path that led to the headlands, Cailan talked along the way, but thankfully not about anything that required a great deal of Rhianna's attention. Mostly, he commented about the surroundings, and asked questions that were easy enough to answer: What was that, across the water? When had the ruins been built? How long would it take to sail the birlinn all the way to Kirkwall?

She answered his questions as thoughtfully as possible while ignoring the way her stomach churned. That her chest felt hollowed out and empty. That her limbs felt twitchy, as though nothing would feel so good as to run, and just keep on until she was too exhausted to take another step, and fall to the ground in a heap.

She forced herself to hold onto the thread of Cailan's voice, tethering herself to it so that her mind didn't go flying off again in a thousand different directions, as it had last night when she returned to her room after her conversation with Teagan.

Her father had promised her to Cailan. Without ever even asking her, he'd promised her to Cailan. He'd turned down Loghain's proposal, all the while lying about his reasons, and promised her to Cailan.

With just a few words, her father had ruined her life.

Betrayed her.

Broken the single most important promise he had ever made.

Destroyed everything she had ever wanted. Destroyed it completely, without even the decency to be honest about what he'd done. Without giving her any warning whatsoever that Cailan had asked for her hand.

And now here she was, arm in arm with the king, and he would require an answer from her just a few minutes from now, and there was really only one answer she could give. She would say, "yes," even though she wished she could say, "no." Wished she could scream it at the top of her lungs. Shout it from the highest point on the island, and hear her voice echo back at her.

No.

No.

No.

For a few minutes the previous night, she had considered saying no. Well, not saying it, but making it clear with her actions, and running away. Not waiting, not planning. Just getting on her horse and riding south as far and as fast as she could go. She'd even packed a bag with the things she wanted to take with her: a few changes of clothes, what money she had, the ammonite pendant Loghain had sent to her when he was away to sea. Sneaking out of the castle with Dane would have been simple enough if she left through the servant's entrance in the kitchen, and she'd have had several hours' head start before anyone realized she was gone.

But as she'd stood in front of the armor stand, preparing to put on her leathers, she'd argued with herself about whether or not she could actually do this. How could she even think about doing something so impossible, so risky, so stupid?

If she ran away, Cailan would be angry, and he was the king. He had the power to strike back against her – against her entire family – for going against his wishes. He didn't seem the sort to put anyone to death – Rhianna for running away, or her father for making a promise she had broken – but it was possible. Kings had done such things before, and over lesser transgressions. And even if he didn't do anything so drastic, there were so many other ways he could retaliate. He could strip the Couslands of their title and their lands. Force the family to leave Ferelden forever. And if word of all this got out through the wrong channels, it might even be enough to spark a civil war between those who supported Cailan, and those who wouldn't want to see the queen set aside.

But as she stood in her bedroom, the stones cool beneath her bare feet as she tried to work up the courage to pull on her armor, she knew it wasn't fear of what Cailan might do to her family that stopped her.

It was the realization that, in the end, running away would not have gotten her what she wanted most, because that life was no longer possible. No amount of fear would have kept her from leaving if she'd been certain Loghain still wanted her. If Loghain had written telling her he loved her, and would wait for her, she'd have left that night, the consequences be damned. She'd have fought for a life with him with her dying breath.

But now? After the letter he had written? Loghain had moved beyond her reach.

What good would running away do? Even if she managed to evade the soldiers her father would send, even if she made it all the way to Gwaren, what then? Loghain's letter had made it clear that he didn't want her. She wanted to believe otherwise. She was desperate to believe that he loved her, even though he had never said it - not even once – and even though his letter had been clear that it was over between them. In spite of all this, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that if he was there in front of her, if she held his hands and begged, that he would tell he he loved her. She wanted to believe this more than anything.

But she couldn't. Because she knew him, knew him better, perhaps, than he knew himself, and Loghain wasn't the sort of man who said things he didn't mean. Things that hadn't been thought through. And it had taken him a month to write that letter. An entire month to decide what to say.

So if he said it was over between them, then it was over. Whatever they'd had together, whatever she had hoped they would share in the future, it was over, and Loghain no longer wanted any of it. And she was terrified that she would arrive in Gwaren and find that Loghain wasn't happy to see her.

No doubt Loghain would help her when he learned Cailan intended to set Anora aside. But that wasn't what Rhianna wanted. She didn't want his help. She wanted _him_. And the thought of standing in front of him, and having him look down at her with pity or anger or anything other than love?

No. That was something she simply could not bear.

So she talked herself out of running away. There was too much to lose, and nothing to gain, and even though it hurt so much it felt as though her heart was being torn from her body, she accepted it. Accepted that Loghain was gone from her life, and she would have to find a way to live without him. And with Loghain gone, she had nothing to fight for. No reason to run away. No reason to refuse Cailan's offer. Not one single reason she could cling to for not doing her duty to her family, her king and her country.

She had stuffed the bag under her bed, and crawled back underneath the covers.

She would do what was required of her, even if it made her feel dead inside. Even though she dreaded what the rest of her life would be. Because none of that mattered now. Her feelings, what she wanted, no longer mattered. Nothing mattered. Not if Loghain didn't want her.

After an hour or two of fitful sleep, filled with nightmares of creatures that looked suspiciously like darkspawn, she'd climbed out of bed and dressed herself and combed her hair and practiced smiling at the mirror, so she knew how it felt when it looked "right." Then she had come downstairs and put on the best performance of her entire life. Her life might be in shambles, but she was a Cousland, and she'd be damned if anyone would have cause to criticize the way she presented herself in front of their guests.

Now, at the top of the path, Rhianna led Cailan to the end of the promontory, where they had a stunning view of the bay. A large boulder was situated so it blocked the worst of the wind that would have otherwise whipped at them mercilessly. Years ago, someone had erected a stone bench here, where Rhianna and Cailan now sat side by side.

In a gesture that seemed surprisingly shy, Cailan reached over and took one of her hands.

"So, Rhianna." He smiled at her, and something in his expression made her smile back, one of the few smiles today she hadn't had to fake. He was sweet, after all, in his own way. "I was wondering if you've had time to think about what we discussed yesterday. To . . . grow accustomed to the idea?"

"Yes, I have."

"And?"

She had, indeed, thought carefully about what she would say. After abandoning her plan to escape, she laid in bed staring at the ceiling and practicing this conversation.

"I love Ferelden dearly, and the opportunity to be her queen, to help guide her and do everything in my power to see that she prospers . . . I truly would welcome the chance to be of service to this country that I love."

Cailan's smile faltered; this was not what he had hoped to hear. Surely, he wanted her to think loving thoughts of him, not Ferelden. So, she gave him the best she could give him, without telling any outright lies. "And I am honored that you think highly enough of me to want me to be your wife. You are a good man, and I believe you will do your best to be kind to me. So, yes. I am willing to become your wife."

His smile returned. When he looked as though he was going to speak, she continued quickly. "There is one thing I need to make clear, though. I am not making you any firm promise right now. Anora has been a good friend to me over the years, and the thought of entering into some sort of secret betrothal - that, I am not willing to do. Before I will promise to become your wife, I need to know that Anora, as well as the Landsmeet, knows what you intend to do. Only when we are free to announce our engagement publicly will I say yes to becoming your wife."

Cailan's brow wrinkled. "But you just said you're willing to marry me. I don't see the difference."

"Don't you?" Perhaps there wasn't much of one, after all, but somehow there was a distinction to be made, at least in her mind. "What I'm saying is that I am willing to be married to you, but I can't make any promise. Not yet. Not until all the details are sorted, and you're free to make a promise to me. When your divorce is underway, and everything else is being dealt with, come back and ask me again. Does that make sense?"

"Yes." Cailan nodded, slowly. "I suppose I understand." He fumbled in one of his pockets. "I hope it will still be all right with you if I give you something. It was meant as a betrothal gift, and I realize you're saying we're not really betrothed yet. But I would like you to have it anyway."

He handed her a tiny wooden box with a hinged lid. She lifted the lid to look inside. Nestled in a little bed of dark blue velvet was a golden charm in the shape of a dancing hound: the Mabari Rampant, the symbol of Ferelden. It had been Maric's device and was now Cailan's. A tiny sapphire was set where the dog's eye should be, and the charm was strung on a delicate chain. Rhianna carefully lifted it out of the box and turned it to catch the light.

"It's beautiful, Cailan." And it was. It was absolutely lovely, even though she would never, ever wear it unless Cailan was there to see. "Thank you."

He took it out of her hands. "May I?" He motioned for her to turn around so he could help her put it on. She complied, lifting her hair out of the way, and he reached around and carefully connected the two sides of the clasp. Rhianna looked down at the charm, which settled just below the notch of her collarbone. She touched it with her fingers, and a wave of sadness hit her, nearly as powerful as any she had ever experienced, sadness for all she had lost.

Loghain, and her dream of being married to him. Of living in Gwaren, of the life they would have had together. Of their children. Now, none of that would happen. She'd spent so much of her life dreaming of a place she'd never been, created images in her mind that seemed as real as places she had actually visited. But she would never see Gwaren now. Never walk its cliffs while holding Loghain's hand in her own. Never again feel the brush of his lips against her skin, or the touch of his hands on her hair. She would never hold their child in her arms. Everything she had ever wanted was gone.

Instead, she would have a life in Denerim, with a man she hardly knew and didn't want. She would be known as the woman who usurped the place of a much-beloved queen. She would be surrounded by people who would fawn over her, but whom she could never trust. She'd probably not be allowed to leave the city, or even the castle, without guards. It would like being a prisoner in her own home.

And if she ever saw Loghain again, he would hate her for taking his daughter's place. A shiver ran through her body at the thought of the look he would have in his eyes, angry and cold, his lips tight with disdain. Not only would she be forced to live without him, but now the man she loved would hate her.

That, perhaps, was the worst thing of all.

But she forced herself to push the sadness away, and turned to give Cailan another smile.

"Thank you. It really is lovely."

"Not nearly as lovely as you are." She looked up into his eyes, which shone brightly. These weren't merely pretty words to please her; he believed what he was saying. Again, she felt sad, but this time she wasn't sure if the sadness was for herself, or for him.

Because she had no intention of falling in love with him. She made that mistake once, with a man who had seemed so steadfast, and look what had come of that. And Cailan was not steadfast in the least. There was no way she would allow herself to become attached to him, only to have her heart broken when he grew bored with her, as was bound to happen sooner or later.

Of course, she kept these thoughts from showing in her face; all she allowed Cailan to see was the smile of a woman who was touched by being given a lovely gift.

"Thank you, Rhianna," he said earnestly. "I cannot tell you how happy this makes me. I know in my heart that this is what is meant to be, that you and I should be together. In truth, you are the one I should have married in the first place. Eamon tried to convince me of it, after my father went missing, but I was stubborn. And I know we'll be happy together. This is what you've wanted for years, isn't it? You don't have to pretend otherwise; I saw your tears on the day Anora and I were wed."

Eamon? Eamon had suggested this years ago? And her tears? Did he not know she'd been stung by bees that day?

Before she could respond, Cailan reached up and cupped her face in one of his hands. "I know we're not betrothed." A grin played at the corners of his mouth. "But would it be all right if I were to kiss you?"

He wanted to kiss her? Of course he did. And again she wanted to say no. But what was the point in that? They would be married someday, so this would happen sooner or later, whether she wanted it or not. And if she had to spend the rest of her life with this man, perhaps it would be wise to do what she could to make sure it went smoothly.

Besides, none of this was his fault. Her father was to blame. Cailan had no way of knowing just how much she did not want him.

What if . . .

What if she told him? Told him the truth? A little flicker of hope flared in her chest. What if she told him she was in love with Loghain, and that it wouldn't be fair to Cailan for her to agree to be his wife, knowing she was in love with another man? Perhaps that would be a way to fix things, to fix everything. If Cailan told her father he had changed his mind . . . and if Father told Loghain he had been wrong to reject the proposal . . .

Almost immediately the tiny flame quickly sputtered and died. No. It was too late for any of that, far too late. Loghain didn't want her, and telling Cailan the truth wouldn't change the fact of this marriage. This had nothing to do with love, after all; Cailan might spout pretty words, but in reality he needed a new bride for political reasons. Telling him she loved another man wouldn't change that; it would only make it more likely that her life in the future would be even more miserable.

No, it would be much smarter to accustom herself to the life that now lay before her. Being married to Cailan, and all that went along with it.

"Yes. It would be all right."

At the top of a cliff overlooking the blue-green waters of the Waking Sea, Rhianna placed her hands on Cailan's shoulders, and allowed him to pull her close. He kissed her, and she forced herself not to pull away, and when he caressed her, on her back, and then - tentatively at first but soon growing more bold - at her breast, she didn't try to stop him.

And it felt good, didn't it? Surely, something about it felt good. Perhaps it didn't set her on fire the way Loghain's kisses had, the way Loghain's fingers on her skin made her breath catch in her throat, but there was no point in dwelling on that, because Loghain was her past. It was time to put those memories behind her, and embrace what was now within her reach.

Cailan. The King of Ferelden.

She was struck by an urge to look at him, to see what was in his eyes. Abruptly she pulled away, and he looked confused at first, but then he smiled. The smile of a man who had never needed to feel insecure, never worried he would be rejected. A man who genuinely wanted her to be happy, even if he had no way of figuring out what that meant. A man who would do his best to be kind to her, even if his best was certain to fall short time and time again. But also a man with no malice in his heart, a man who really believed he was doing what was right.

Satisfied with what she saw, she allowed him to pull her close again, and gave in to his kisses.

After a few minutes, he brought his mouth close to her ear. "Perhaps I could come to you tonight? To your room. After everyone else has gone to bed."

Startled, she pulled away, her eyes wide.

"I just . . .," he continued, "well, you're so beautiful, and I want so very much to make love to you. Please, Rhianna."

"No." She shook her head and took a rather gasping breath, surprised, even though she shouldn't have been. But the thought of Cailan touching her the way Loghain had touched her, the thought of being naked with him, of laying beneath him, of his body pressing down on hers . . . it made her feel sick to her stomach. "I'm sorry, but I . . . I can't. I'm not ready for that."

"Oh." He sounded disappointed, but then took her hand. "Of course you aren't. I'd forgotten how young you are, and that you've never been with a man before." Now, his voice was contrite. "It was clumsy of me to ask you, so soon. I'm sorry."

She let out a relieved breath, genuinely grateful for his good grace in accepting her rejection. "Thank you. Thank you for understanding." She took a deep breath, and looked out over the sea. "Perhaps we should go back now? There isn't all that much to the ruins, and it will be awkward if the others are down there waiting on us for a long time."

"Of course." He stood and offered a hand to help her up as well. "Will you promise to spare some time for me again tomorrow? Alone, like this? I would very much appreciate it."

"Yes, Your Maj-, I mean, Cailan. Of course we can make time like this again tomorrow."

"Good. Because right now, there is nothing I would rather do than just . . . be with you."

He took her face between his hands kissed her fully on the lips.

His talk of coming to her bedroom had cooled any willingness she had felt before, but she forced herself to return the kiss.

Is this how things would always be? Would she spend the rest of her life trying to force herself to feel things she couldn't manage to genuinely feel?

Tears began to form behind her eyes. Determined to force them back, determined to feel something - anything - other than sorrow, she wrapped her arms around Cailan, and pulled him close with an intensity she didn't feel, but wanted so desperately to be real. She kissed him, as passionately as she knew how. His arms tightened around her and, for a moment, when his lips came even more alive under her own, she felt something.

A tiny spark, somewhere deep inside.

Perhaps everything would be all right, eventually.

It wasn't yet, but perhaps someday it would be.

When the kiss ended, and they walked back to the beach, Rhianna put her arm through Cailan's. Again he filled the time with conversation and she struggled to keep up with how quickly he flitted from one topic to the next. Another wave of exhaustion crashed over her, and seeped all the way down into her bones.

Just how far in the future would someday prove to be?

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A big thank you as always to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to my lovely and faithful reviewers: KrystylSky, Kateskates24, Melysande, Seth Motley, DjinniGenie, Teenanime, SwomeeSwan, Tyrannosaurustex, KatDancer2, Kira Tamarion, Doom-N-GloomGal, Psyche Sinclair, Milly-finalfantasy, Arsinoe de Blassenville, GLCW2, Rena Hawke, and Dragonmactir.

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	67. A Cousland always does her duty

_**18 Kingsway, 9:20 Dragon  
**__**Highever**__**  
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Rhianna closed the door behind her, leaned back against it, and breathed deeply for the first time in hours. Then she let the breath out again, slowly.

Alone in her bedroom, at last. This had been the most exhausting day she could ever remember. As soon as the sun had set, and she could reasonably excuse herself on the pretense of going to bed, she had fled the sitting room where the others were gathered. Not that she had any intention of going to bed – sleep was not likely to claim her anytime soon, no matter how much she wished it would – but she was desperate for solitude. To be able to let down the veneer of happiness she had worn all day. To stop behaving as if everything was fine, when really, she felt like she was dying. She'd been forced, all day long, to entertain the man who would soon be her husband, when all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry. The muscles in her cheeks ached from forcing herself to smile, and now that she was safely ensconced in her room, with no need to put on an act for the others, her body felt sluggish and heavy.

She rested there, with her back against the door, for a few minutes. When she was able to gather the strength to move again, she removed the mabari pendant Cailan had given her, and set it on the silver tray on her vanity. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, with Dane at her feet, and put her face in her hands. She expected tears to come, but they didn't, almost as if she was too tired even to cry.

Earlier in the day, she had hoped that after it was done, after she'd spoken with Cailan, after she'd said the words out loud, there would be some sense of relief. But there wasn't. There was just grief and loneliness and anger.

Anger at her father. At Cailan. At Loghain. At her mother and her brother, for not saving her from this. At Oriana, whose smile seemed to say she thought this would be best, in the long run. At King Maric for sailing away on that ship and never returning.

But mostly, she was angry at herself. There must have been something she could have done differently. Something she could have said to her father to make him understand she would never be happy without Loghain. Something she could have written to Loghain that would have convinced him not to abandon her. He had wanted to marry her, he _must_ have wanted to marry her. He'd asked her father for her hand, but it just came too late. Just a single day too late. Her father had been agreeing to the thing that ruined her life at the very same time she and Loghain had been at the top of Fort Drakon.

But what could she have done? Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that her father would do something like this, promise her to someone without asking her first. When Loghain said they had all the time in the world, she'd believed him. But it wasn't true. It wasn't true at all.

She should have asked Loghain to marry her that day at the waterfall, when Maric made the joke. It would have been worth all the awkwardness, any amount of embarrassment, if it meant Loghain would have spoken to her father sooner.

She should have asked him to make love to her the night she killed the poacher. Perhaps they would have been caught together, and Loghain would have been forced to marry her.

No.

A wave of something like nausea rolled through her belly.

Not that.

No matter how much she wanted him, if he truly didn't want to be with her, she couldn't wish there had been some way to trap him. Especially now that she knew exactly what it felt like to be trapped that way. It was a blessing she wasn't with child. The only thing worse than knowing Loghain didn't want her would have been to find out he didn't want her, and had her family force him to marry her anyway.

Either way, there was no point in tormenting herself with "what ifs." Whether she could have done things differently or not, it was over. Loghain had left her, and she'd agreed to marry Cailan. She would be the queen of Ferelden.

Wasn't that supposed to make her happy? Didn't all little girls grow up wishing they could be queen? Probably, but only because they didn't know what it really meant. Children believed that being the queen meant getting to do whatever you want, because there was no one more powerful to tell you what to do. But that wasn't the way things really worked, was it? Married to Cailan, Rhianna would have far less freedom than she had ever had before. And less chance at happiness, as well.

Of course, this wasn't about what would make her happy; in the end what noblewoman's life was? Duty comes first, before everything else. She'd been taught that from the moment of her birth, but even so, she'd never believed her own duty and happiness would be so mutually exclusive.

She pushed herself to her feet, and pulled the bag out from underneath her bed, the bag she had packed when she'd planned to run away to Gwaren. The clothes were returned to her wardrobe, and the money pouch slipped into a drawer. The pendant from Loghain, though, was not returned to its usual place. Instead, she held it in her hand for a moment, rubbing her thumb around the spiral pattern on its smooth surface. Her chest felt heavy, and for a moment she had difficulty taking a breath, as a sob escaped her throat.

She set the pendant down on the bed.

In the far corner of her room, a trunk sat against one of her bedroom walls. She pulled open the lid, took everything out of it, piling the contents on the bed, and then knelt down and slipped her fingers underneath the carved molding at the bottom. She found a latch, its metal cooler than the surrounding wood, and when she pressed it, the trunk's false bottom popped open, revealing a few inches of storage space inside normally hidden from view.

Slowly, methodically, only barely able to force her limbs to propel her in the direction she wanted to go, she went around her room and collected all the things Loghain had ever given her: the gown from Rivain, the earrings, the beautiful leather dagger pouch. From her bedside table she took the book of stories he had given her on that last day before he sailed away to look for Maric. Next, she carefully stacked all of his letters, those he had sent during the years he'd been away at sea, and his newest letter - his final letter. Finally, she picked the ammonite pendant up off of the bed, and placed it on top.

She kept out only two things. The first was the map of Thedas. It was too large to fit in the space without being folded, and she couldn't bear to damage something so beautiful. So that, she rolled up and slid into its case, and tucked it in the far corner of the room behind a bookshelf, where hopefully she wouldn't notice it very often. The second was the dagger he had given her after the werewolf attack. That felt like too much a part of her; she had carried it nearly every day for the past five years. Besides, she would have to find a replacement before she could do without it. She felt naked and helpless anytime she left the castle without a weapon. So that, she slipped under her pillow.

She replaced the bottom panel, sealing away her most treasured possessions - things she had treasured so much because of the love she had for the man who had given them to her. Things that now brought only sorrow. Even so, she couldn't get rid of them. That thought made her sick to her stomach. So she hid them away, and someday, perhaps she could take them out and look at them and feel only a touch of sadness. In the meantime, she would just pretend they didn't exist.

She pulled off her clothes, and slipped into a nightgown. The cold cotton made her shiver, but she ignored the chill and lay down on the bed, not bothering to slide underneath the covers. Dane hopped up beside her, and she put her arms around him, and stared blankly at the wall.

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Bryce was restless. Everyone else had gone to bed, but he found himself unable to sleep. He tried to settle himself with a glass of whiskey and a book, but realized after only a few minutes that he didn't have the concentration for reading.

He didn't have to guess at why; he was worried about Rhianna.

The day had gone well, at least outwardly so. When they had sailed back to Highever, everyone seemed happy with the day's adventure, if a bit worn out from the sun and the wind and the walking. But faces had been cheerful, and Rhianna sat at the stern, appearing content as she operated the rudder and shouted instructions every so often to Cailan. For his part, the king seemed more than happy to do whatever she asked of him.

Just after dinner, Rhianna took Oren out to the practice field for another lesson with the toy sword Cailan had given the boy. Fergus, Cailan and Bryce had all tagged along to watch as Rhianna showed her nephew how to stand, the right amount of bend at his knees, how to control his arm and slash or stab, instead of just swinging wildly. How to block her blow with his shield.

She did none of the silly things he might have expected her to do with a child so young; she didn't run from him, pretending to scream in terror, and she didn't fall to the ground, in feigned agony when he stabbed at her with his scaled-down wooden weapon. Instead, she stood her ground and batted away his attacks. Nor did she tell him his initial efforts were magnificent. She praised him when he'd done well, but mostly, was just calm and steady with her instruction. By the time they were finished, the boy's face glowed with happiness and satisfaction.

Someday, she would be an excellent mother. The thought had not occurred to him before; Rhianna had never been interested in babies or dolls; all her "maternal" instincts had been directed towards caring for stray animals. But now, watching her with his grandson, it was clear she would indeed be a very good mother for the child who would someday become the king or queen of Ferelden. Just as she, herself, would be a very good queen of Ferelden, as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made.

Queen of Ferelden. The most powerful woman in all the land, and she would no doubt wield that power wisely and well.

But was she happy about it? From her demeanor, it was difficult to tell. When she and Cailan had returned from their walk along the cliffs, she wore a golden mabari charm around her neck, clearly a gift from the king. He assumed that meant she had agreed to the proposal, and was happy with the idea. Or, if not happy, content at least. But the feeling he'd had that morning – that she was angry with her father - had not eased over the course of the day. If anything, his apprehension had grown stronger. She smiled and told jokes and graciously did everything anyone asked of her, but not once during the day, not since the few words they'd spoken that morning, had she caught her father's eye, or given him so much as a word or a smile.

Yes, it seemed as though she was angry, and what he wanted most right now was to talk to her. Listen to her concerns, and soothe her fears. Convince her that this was a good thing.

So, with a word to Eleanor not to wait up, he put on a dressing gown and slippers, and went down the hall to Rhianna's room.

When she answered the knock on the door, she looked surprised to see him, but quickly smoothed the lines of her face into practiced indifference.

"Father," she said simply.

"Were you expecting someone else?"

"Of course not." She crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back on her heels, throwing her face into in shadow, but he didn't have to see her expression to hear the disapproval in her voice. "Cailan asked if he could visit me tonight, but I told him no."

Bryce's eyes grew wide. Cailan had requested to visit her, in her bedroom, in the middle of the night? What was even more unsettling was the way Rhianna had spoken of it, so casually, as though she had taken this request in stride.

She continued to stand, arms crossed, in the doorway, making no move to invite him in.

"May I . . ." he began, wondering if perhaps he'd made a mistake in coming here tonight. "May I come in, Pup?"

She hesitated a moment, then shrugged and stepped back to let him enter. She wore a white nightgown, the same style she had worn all her life, with long sleeves and a gathered neckline. He glanced at her throat; she no longer wore the pendant. Her hair was down, and her skin looked more pale than usual, in contrast with the smudge of dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked tired, and . . . flat, as if there was no emotion in her eyes. Like the Tranquil mage who worked in the Wonders of Thedas in Denerim. It was unsettling, and Bryce looked away.

But glancing around her bedroom made his heart ache even more. Her room looked much as it always had: her bed made, her armor on its stand in the corner, trinkets on the shelves, so many of which reminded Bryce of Rhianna at younger ages. Reminded him of the precious, precocious, sweet and loving daughter she had always been until recently.

But here and there, things were missing. Her map of Thedas, usually kept open on her desk, was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the ammonite pendant that hung from her mirror when she wasn't wearing it; another thing Loghain had given her. Nor the book of stories that used to sit on her bedside table.

He took a breath, and it felt ragged. If only he could go back in time, when things were easier. Back before that precious, precocious little girl grew into a woman who was now unwilling to look him in the eye.

After she closed the door behind him, she turned to face him, not looking _at _him as much as looking _through_ him.

"Is there something you wanted?" There was a coldness in her voice that cut through him, made him catch his breath.

"Can't a father come visit his daughter just . . . because?"

"I suppose so." She looked down at the floor beside him, and then over to Dane, who was curled up on the foot of her bed. Her mouth turned up slightly at the corners at the sight of the hound, who whined softly in response. Maker's breath, but even the dog sounded unhappy.

"Rhianna." He paused. "I think we should talk. About things. About . . . Cailan."

"If you like."

"I understand the king spoke to you. About . . . the future."

"Yes."

"And?"

Her only response was to shrug her shoulders. Apparently she wasn't going to make this easy on him.

"Rhianna, please. Talk to me."

"About what? You already know what he asked me, and you raised me well enough to know there was only one way I could possibly answer. What is there to talk about?"

"What is there to talk about?" A flash of annoyance. Why was she being so difficult? "Everything! You're going to be the queen of Ferelden. How do you feel about that?"

She winced at his words. "How do I feel about it? It's a bit late to be asking that now, don't you think?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that it might have been nice to have had this conversation before you promised me to Cailan. Before you gave me to him without ever bothering to ask me how I felt about it."

Damn. Cailan must have told her about their meeting back in Denerim. Bryce had hoped the king would have chosen not to divulge that bit of information; he'd wanted to tell her that himself, as soon as he was free to do so.

At least she was looking him in the eye. That was a slight improvement.

"It wasn't like that, Rhianna."

"Wasn't it?" She searched his face, as if looking for something. "Then what was it like?" There was a hard edge to her voice now; finally, a show of emotion. "What was it like when you lied to Loghain about why you wouldn't let him marry me? What was it like when you ignored me begging you - _begging_ - not to keep me from the man I love?"

Not this again. "I didn't lie to him. I didn't have to. Loghain Mac Tir is no sort of proper husband for you. He's a dangerous man, violent, and he abandoned his first wife. I wouldn't have agreed to the marriage, even if Cailan hadn't approached me."

She scoffed, her lips tight and her eyes hard. "And you want me to believe you care about my feelings?"

"Of course I care." A spark of anger burst into life in his chest. "I did this for you, Rhianna. You would never have been happy with Loghain. Even he must see that, judging by how quickly he was willing to let the idea drop."

As soon as the words left his lips, he wished he could take them back. Rhianna drew in a sharp breath, and her anger vanished as tears welled up in her eyes and her bottom lip trembled. She put a hand to her face, as though trying to hide this show of emotion.

He'd hurt her. Andraste's arse. That had not been his intention, Maker knows she'd been hurt enough, and he certainly hadn't come here to drive the knife in deeper. But he had never felt this much anger from her before, certainly not directed at him, and it made him feel trapped and cornered. He'd struck out before he could stop himself.

Before he could apologize, her anger returned. "Regardless of what Loghain feels or doesn't feel for me, you ignored what I wanted in favor of . . . of what? Of garnering favor with the King of Ferelden? Is this your way of living vicariously through me, since the Landsmeet failed to make you king after Maric disappeared?"

That stung, and it wasn't even remotely true. "This isn't about 'garnering favor.' This is about the future of Ferelden. The country you have professed so many times over the years to love with all your heart."

Her eyes flashed. "I didn't realize my desire to be the Teyrna of Gwaren was so damaging to Ferelden," she spat. "And forgive me for choosing one of the most powerful men in Thedas. The Hero of River Dane, commander of the royal armies. Yes, I can see now how selfish it was to think I could do whatever I wanted with my life. No doubt, I should have anticipated I'd have the opportunity to become queen. In spite of the fact there already is a queen. A damned good queen, who deserves much better than to be set aside like this."

She wasn't entirely wrong, but her sarcasm grated on him, and he felt his anger growing.

"Stop it!"

Rhianna glared at him, and lifted her chin defiantly, but remained silent, waiting for him to speak.

"I didn't know any of those things," he insisted. "Is it my fault Loghain never approached me until another arrangement had already been made?" For that matter, while Bryce didn't dare say this to Rhianna, Loghain's timing seemed suspicious. If he'd really wanted to marry her, why hadn't he asked for her hand years ago? Cailan was not known for his discretion, and if Loghain had found out about the king's intention to set Anora aside, making a play for Rhianna's hand might have been Loghain's way of preventing the divorce.

"No," she countered, "but it is your fault you made an arrangement without asking me what I wanted. You and Mother promised me - during the whole of my life, you _promised_ - I would never be forced to marry someone I did not want to marry. Obviously, that was a lie."

"No, it wasn't," he insisted. "It wasn't a lie." But even he could hear the defeat in his voice. She was right. He had reneged on that promise. That very important promise. But not for any selfish reason. Of course he wanted what was best for his daughter, what would make her happy. But there was duty to be considered, as well. That is, after all, what it meant to be nobility. Despite what certain people might believe – Vaughan Kendalls, for example, or Habren Bryland, perhaps even Cailan himself – nobles didn't live their lives solely for themselves. Nobility meant doing what was best for your people, for your country. Rhianna knew that; he and Eleanor had made sure she understood this from the time she was small.

"Rhianna, you have to understand, this was different. This wasn't some bann coming to me with hopes for his second son. We're talking about the King of Ferelden. Even if I'd known how you felt, I couldn't have said no. And neither can you. He is our king, the man to whom we swore our fealty."

"To whom you swore fealty," Rhianna murmured. Before he could reply, she continued, "But don't worry. I haven't said no. Even though there is no part of me that wants to be his wife, I told Cailan that I am willing to marry him. I'll be careful not to let him know just how much I don't want this; after all, none of it is really his fault" She held his gaze. "I don't blame Cailan. I blame you."

Her words struck him like a physical blow, as though he had been punched in the gut, and he struggled to take a breath. Heat surged behind his eyes.

If only he could go back in time. To a time when Rhianna was small. When she looked up at him with a smile that told him she trusted him above all others. When she loved him wholeheartedly, with no anger or resentment. Not this young woman who now stood before him, glaring at him defiantly, and breaking his heart.

"Rhianna, please . . ." He closed his eyes for a moment, not sure how to finish that sentence. "I never thought this would . . . I have only ever wanted you to be happy. Why can't you see that? I don't understand why this is so difficult. You're going to be the queen of Ferelden. Doesn't that make you happy? Isn't it worth setting aside some of your own desires?"

"Some of my desires?" Her voice was small and wounded. "Are they such small, unimportant things?" She sobbed once, and then shook her head, as though forbidding herself from crying. When she continued, it was in a stronger voice. "Do you want my honest answer, or would you prefer me to lie?"

He didn't know what to say to that.

After a moment, she continued. "All right, I'll give you the truth then. No. It isn't worth it. I have never wanted to be queen. I've always believed I could serve Ferelden better in other ways. And to be honest, I'm not sure how much good I'll be able to do as queen, not in the short term at least. This is not going to be an easy transition, for Ferelden, for the nobility, for any of us. Trying to accomplish anything without the support of the Mac Tirs will be challenging enough - because Loghain will fight this, tooth and claw. For Anora's sake." Her breath caught, and it was a moment before she continued. "And there will be resistance from others. Anora is well-loved. It will be years before I'll be accepted as queen, if I'm ever, indeed, accepted at all. In the meantime I could have been accomplishing things in Gwaren. And I would have been happy. Regardless of what you told Loghain - whatever you said to him that made him doubt it himself - I would have been happy with him." She looked into his eyes for a long time, and then looked away. "There was a time when I believed that meant something to you."

"How can you say something like that? Of course your happiness means something. It means everything."

Didn't she know she was as dear to him as anyone else in the world? Bryce loved both of his children, and surely no one ever had cause to question his devotion. But what he felt for Rhianna was different than what he felt for Fergus. Perhaps because she was his youngest, or perhaps because she was a girl, but Bryce had always doted upon her more, and worried more about her future.

There had never been any question Fergus would be able to make his own way in the world. He could choose the woman he wanted to marry, inherit the teyrnir or step aside in favor of his sister, if that was what he desired. But with Rhianna, it was different. The options available to her - the things she could grasp of her own will with her own hands - were limited. Bryce had always known it would be up to him and Eleanor to ensure Rhianna ended up in a life that would make her happy.

He'd believed this would make her happy. He truly had. Why couldn't she understand that?

He shouldn't have come. He'd wanted to fix things, but it would have been so much better to lay sleepless in his bed than to have this ugly shouting match with his daughter. And now he was overcome by conflicting emotions: hurt and grief and anger and regret. And a layer of rage starting to settle over the top of it all.

"Why can't you understand, I did this for you?"

"I don't understand. Because it looks to me like you're doing all of this for yourself. Otherwise, you might have bothered to ask me what I wanted before promising me to a man who will make me miserable!"

The rage flared. "What are you talking about? Cailan is a good man. He's kind, he's handsome." He threw his hands up in frustration. "I'm not asking you to marry someone horrible. Maker's balls! You must be the only woman in Thedas who would actually choose Loghain Mac Tir over Cailan Theirin!"

"Perhaps I am, but shouldn't that have been my choice to make?" Her voice was quiet, but intense, as though she knew her voice might carry if she shouted, and she didn't want to be overheard. "And I won't deny that Cailan is a 'good man,' but that's not all he is. He's also foolish, and selfish, and . . ." Her voice trailed off, and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were dark and intense. "Do you want to know what sort of a man you're forcing me to marry?"

"What are you talking about?"

Her eyes narrowed. "You really don't know, do you? You have no idea."

He was too tired for this. "No idea about what?"

"That Cailan has been unfaithful to Anora. Repeatedly."

He held up his hand, palm facing toward his daughter. Of course, he had heard the odd story here and there, mostly jokes about how the king fancied elves, as his father had before him. But this was ridiculous, and Bryce was fast running out of patience.

"Stop this. Just stop it right now. I don't know where you are getting these ideas, but that can't possibly be true. And you should know better than to pay attention to vicious rumors."

"Rumors? From Anora herself, who found him in a sitting room of the palace fucking an elven maidservant during the week before the Landsmeet?" Bryce winced at her language; he'd never heard her utter that word before in her life. "Or perhaps it was just a 'rumor' the evening Cailan told Loghain and I that he was on his way to the Pearl, before Teagan realized how stupid his nephew was being, and said they were going to the Gnawed Noble instead?"

"What?" He'd never heard any of this before. "How is it possible you know these things, Rhianna?"

"How is it possible you don't? I know because I pay attention. I don't want to marry a man who is certain to cheat on me. But do you want to know what's even worse? The thing that occurred to me just a few minutes before you knocked on my door? The other thing that can be deduced from all this?"

"Other thing? What other thing?"

"Cailan has had multiple lovers. So if the problem was with Anora, if she just couldn't conceive, then surely by now someone else would have produced a royal bastard. But that hasn't happened. Which means the problem is almost certainly with Cailan, rather than the queen. So when I am unable to conceive Cailan's child, where will that leave me? To be set aside in another four years, reviled as yet another barren concubine?"

Before he could think of a response, she continued, "Before that happens, I swear I will do whatever it takes to provide Ferelden with the heir she will demand of me. I'm not sure how I'll choose who the father should be. I've never thought much about how women decide who to take as their lovers. With Loghain, I would never have had the slightest desire to take another man into my bed. But this arrangement you've made for me? Whether I want to be faithful or not, I won't have any choice but take a lover. That's what _you_ are forcing me to do." She had tears in her eyes now, but seemed too angry to let them fall.

"Rhianna . . ." His voice trailed off as he searched for something to say.

"Oh, don't worry, Father," she continued, her tone harsh. "I will give Cailan a chance to sire my children. We could have started tonight. He wanted to. He wants _so very much_ to make love to me. I told him I wasn't ready, but I expect he'll ask again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. I don't know how long I'll be able to put him off. He is, after all, the King of Ferelden. He isn't used to being told 'no.' Especially not by a Cousland."

Ignoring the anger that flared inside him at the way she said "Cousland," he focused instead on his anger towards Cailan. The man was already pressuring Rhianna to lay with him?

"Cailan has asked you to lay with him?" Bryce would have to do something to ease the situation. Speak to Cailan, make it clear he was not to attempt to be intimate with Rhianna until they were wed. That would be an awkward conversation, at best, especially if Cailan had been rough with her in any way. "And you said no? How did-"

"Yes, Father," she interrupted. "I said no." Again, the anger flared in her eyes, and he wasn't sure if she really misunderstood his meaning, or if she was being willfully obtuse.

"That's not wh-"

But she cut him off again. "Are you surprised that I sent him away? You shouldn't be. I'm sensible, after all. It wouldn't be a good idea to let him have the milk before he's paid for the cow, would it? But don't worry, as soon as I've been bought and paid for, I'll be a good little whore and spread my legs for the king."

An image flashed through his mind: Rhianna on her back on the bed, the king on top of her, bare skin gleaming in firelight. Bryce's stomach lurched.

_Good little whore._

What was wrong with her? Why, _why_ was she being like this?

_Spread my legs for the king. _

Anger surged, so much that it dimmed his vision, and before his mind registered what his body was doing, his hand flew up and slapped Rhianna, hard, across the mouth. Her head snapped to one side, and split appeared on her lip, a single drop of blood welling up out of the wound.

In the silence that followed the crack of his palm against her face, all the breath left his lungs.

He gasped for breath, and grabbed her shoulders. "Oh, Maker, Rhianna. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She yanked herself out of his grasp and stumbled backwards a step. "How _dare_ you," she hissed. She reached up and touched the sore place on her lip, her fingers smearing the blood. "You accused Loghain of being violent? Of hurting me? Loghain Mac Tir _never_ hit me in anger." She ran the back of her hand over the wound, smearing blood across her chin. "But he wasn't good enough for me."

Her tears began to fall, and she rubbed at her eyes angrily, as if betrayed by a show of emotion she didn't want him to witness, and a fresh drop of blood oozed up, and began to make its way down her chin.

He reached out for her, but pulled back before making contact. "Rhianna, I-"

"No," she sobbed. Her chest heaved, and she panted through her mouth, as though trying to calm herself. "I don't want to hear anything you have to say. It's time you listened to me for a change." She took another ragged breath. "I will do what you want me to do. Just as I always have. A Cousland always does her _duty_." Her nose wrinkled as she said it. "I will marry Cailan, but don't expect me to be happy about it, and don't expect me to thank you." Another breath. "And there's something else I need you to know: I will never love him. _Never_. Not when I know he'll betray me sooner or later." She swallowed, and blinked away fresh tears. "I doubt I'll allow myself to fall in love with anyone ever again." Her voice caught in her throat. "You've taken that away from me, forever."

She crossed the room and flung herself down on the bed, turning her back to him. Dane crawled close, and nudged himself into her arms, clearly wanting to comfort her. Something Bryce had lost the right to even attempt.

He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to take her into his arms, to tell her again and again how very sorry he was, for everything.

But he couldn't. She was bound to push him away, and that would hurt even more than her words already had.

Without another word, without so much as a touch on his daughter's hair as she sobbed into her hound's fur, Bryce left the room.

Instead of turning left to return to the bedroom he shared with his wife, he turned right, and went down the hall and out into the open air. Without being aware of where his feet took him, he climbed the battlements to stand outside under the stars, in a gentle wind that ruffled his hair. Ironic that he should seek out one of Rhianna's favorite places in the castle.

Or perhaps it wasn't ironic at all.

He felt panicked, and half-dead inside, as though his heart would burst out of his chest and shatter into pieces, as if an unbearably heavy weight had settled in his stomach. How had it come to this? If there was something he could have done to fix this, he would have done it; if there were prayers to be said, he would have fallen to his knees and prayed - to Andraste, to the Maker, to the old gods of Tevinter - if it would have done any good.

But it was too late for prayers, and too late to take back any of it. Rhianna had told Cailan she would marry him. What was done could not be undone.

He had never felt more awful in all his life. If everything she had said was true, he had made a monumental mistake. She was right. Ferelden would be slow to recover from the setting aside of its queen, even if the king's new wife was popular and pretty and of royal blood herself. And if Cailan really was the one at fault for the lack of children? That ugly possibility had never occurred to him.

And the thought that his daughter would be unfaithful to the king in order to produce an heir?

He thought back over all the things that had been said, but more than anything, he saw again and again in his mind the moment when his hand flew out to strike his daughter in the face. The trickle of blood down her chin. The wounded look in her eyes. Nausea welled up inside him.

If only he could go back in time. Back before he'd made the decision that would change the course of his daughter's life. The decision that couldn't be taken back now, even if it had been the wrong thing to do. Perhaps unforgivably wrong. All he cared about now, all he really wanted was his daughter's love.

And he might have lost it forever.

He rested his back against the wall, and his legs refused to hold him upright. He slid down, all the way to the ground. Through his nightclothes, the cold stone chilled his skin, but he barely noticed. With self-loathing more intense than anything he had ever felt before, Bryce Cousland put his face in his hands, and cried.

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A huge thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to my lovely reviewers (including a few new ones! *waves hello*): KatDancer2, KrystylSky, SwomeeSwan, DjinnieGenie, Hannahhobnob, Milly-finalfantasy, Tevinter of our Discontent, Melysande, RebeccaH83, Ellethe, Dragonmactir, Tyrannosaurustex, Arsinoe de Blassenville, and a Guest.

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	68. The wonders of the Orlesian court

_19 Haring, 9:29 Dragon  
__Orlais__  
_

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From the prow of the ship, Rhianna watched the port of Val Royeaux grow steadily larger. As the caravel slipped effortlessly through the dark green waves, she allowed herself to enjoy the way the wind whipped through her hair, the feel of the salty air on her skin. Being out on the water was soothing, and she could almost pretend to be excited about the adventure ahead of her.

Rhianna, her father and Fergus, along with Cailan and his retinue of a dozen guards, were on their way to Orlais, at the invitation of the empress. According to Father and Cailan both, Celene had been adamant that "Teyrn Bryce's _tres jolie fille_" would accompany her father on this trip, so Rhianna's efforts to be allowed to remain in Highever fell on deaf ears. Rhianna wasn't sure why her visit meant so much to the empress; probably she hoped to arrange a match with some horrid Orlesian noble. Some awful man with a powdered white wig, tall heels on his shoes, a greasy mustache and an accent that would make Rhianna's head hurt.

At least there was no worry that her father would agree to any such marriage; although there was still no formal betrothal, and Cailan's intention to marry Rhianna was a secret to all but the Cousland family and Bann Teagan, Rhianna was most assuredly promised elsewhere. Apparently, though, arranging an annulment was a tricky endeavor, and things were barely farther along now than when the king had visited Highever three months prior. Rhianna was grateful and disappointed, in equal measure. On the one hand, she still had no desire to marry Cailan, but if were going to happen, perhaps just getting it over with would be for the best. The past few months had felt like some sort of limbo, as she lived a life that no longer truly belonged to her.

Perhaps because her "old" life was nearly at an end, she'd tried to keep up with her usual activities, even though it was a challenge some days just to get up out of bed. She was torn between the desire to make the most of the little time she had left in Highever, and an overwhelming malaise that made it difficult to do more than the barest necessities. She went to bed as early as her parents would allow, and slept until someone came to wake her. If she was hungry, she ate, but more often than not, hunger never came. So, every few days her mother would sit with her and watch to ensure she ate an entire meal.

Rhianna did find the energy to ride out in the countryside with Faolan, Dane and Gwyn, something that would surely not be allowed in the future, not without guards, anyway. She visited with friends in the village, already starting to mourn these people who would be lost to her when she moved to Denerim. She trained with her unit of Regulars, the unit that would no longer be hers once she was married. Perhaps Cailan would allow her to command a unit of Maric's Shield. Probably not, though. And with Loghain in command of the royal armies, it seemed unlikely Rhianna would be welcome anywhere near Fort Drakon ever again.

The thought of living in Denerim was the worst of all. She had few friends there to begin with, and would have fewer still when the dust settled. Anora, who would surely hate Rhianna now. Delilah Howe, whom Rhianna hadn't seen since that incident in the palace garden. Leonas Bryland. Well, at least Uncle Leonas was sure to love her no matter what happened.

And, of course, there was Loghain. Perhaps Rhianna had been stupid all these years, spending so much time with him, never bothering to cultivate other relationships. It's just that she hadn't seen the need. Loghain was . . .

No.

There was nothing to be gained by thinking about him. It was bad enough being on this ship, the _Angharad_, knowing Loghain spent two years of his life on board. But at least Rhianna hadn't been with him on the voyage. She didn't know which berth he'd slept in, nor where, exactly, he preferred to stand on deck while he looked out at the ocean rolling by. And Captain Rackham had been friendly, even happy for Rhianna to help out here and there with the sailing of the ship. That had been a welcome distraction, even though her father tried to discourage it, saying it wasn't seemly for a woman of her station. Of course, he meant her future station; he'd never before complained about Rhianna's penchant for sailing. That was another thing that would soon be lost to her: days out on the water with Fergus, sailing their precious little birlinn.

So, no thoughts of Loghain. Nor of any of the people who had once been her friends. Rhianna would just need to make new friends in Denerim. How difficult could that be?

She nearly laughed out loud, and also had the urge to cry. New friends? That would be nigh on impossible. Of course everyone would be nice to her now; no one was ever unkind to a queen directly to her face. But as difficult as it had been for the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever to trust the motives of others, it would be ten times more difficult once she was queen. She would never know who genuinely liked her, and who merely wanted to court favor.

Except, really, she would know.

Nobody would genuinely like her. Forever known as the woman who usurped Anora's place, Rhianna would be hated by those who loved Anora. And those who had disliked the queen - people like Eamon Guerrin and Habren Bryland - would no doubt be pleased that the "commoner" was off the throne, but they would see Rhianna as nothing more than the means to a satisfactory end, and as the broodmare who would sire the next generation of Theirins. No one would genuinely like Rhianna for herself. She'd have Cailan. And her family and Uncle Leonas, on the few occasions when they came to Denerim. No one else.

When this was done, she would be able to count her friends on the fingers of one hand. Without having to use up any of the fingers.

And of course, things with her family weren't perfect these days, either. Especially her relationship with her father.

The days after Cailan and Teagan left Highever had been some of the most uncomfortable of her life. Without guests to encourage at least the show of civility, Rhianna had allowed her anger to surface. Her father tried to talk to her, but she hadn't been ready to hear anything he had to say, not after he'd sold her to the highest bidder. So, she interrupted him mid-sentence, or sometimes just got up and walked away. Most of the time, she went out of her way to avoid being in the same room with him in the first place.

She knew she was hurting him, but she didn't care. Well, that wasn't true, either. She did care - of course she cared - but she was hurting so much she couldn't force herself to behave any differently.

Some of the time, she wasn't even aware of what she was doing. She'd started singing the song "Rose Red" as she wandered around the house, until her father had cornered her and yelled at her to stop. She'd been confused at first, until she remembered the lyrics:

_Rose, Rose, Rose Red  
Will I ever see thee wed?_

_I will marry at thy will, sire  
At thy will_

The song went on to describe a rather rough courtship and marriage, and later the death of the young woman who had been pursued by a lecherous noble. No doubt her father found it disturbing to contemplate the lyrics of the song. In truth, it applied more closely to Rhianna's situation than even she cared to admit.

_In the greenwood, flowers grow  
Blooming bright and gay  
All until the winter's chill steals their life away_

Rhianna felt like one of those flowers: barely beginning to grow, and snipped off the bush to wither and die inside the vast, cold emptiness of the Denerim palace.

After a time, though, she and her father had forged a sort of truce. Rhianna was still angry, and could still remember the sting where he'd bloodied her lip, but she loved her father too much to remain furious indefinitely. He was contrite for the most part, and they were cordial to one another. She doubted anyone outside the family - with the exception of Loghain, had he been there to see - would have noticed any tension at all. But the civility hurt Rhianna nearly as much as the anger had before, for its utter lack of warmth. And she knew this was her fault. Her father had tried to talk to her, tried to apologize, but she refused to listen. She was the one keeping the feud alive.

But she didn't know how to move through her anger, through the betrayal she felt at the way he'd handed her over to Cailan without so much as a word of warning.

Now, she glanced down at the water, and smiled at the sight of a pair of dolphins riding the bow of the ship. She sent out a word of greeting, and they leapt even higher above the waves. It was a sight to cheer even the foulest of moods.

She sensed movement at her side as someone came up beside her.

Cailan.

This voyage was the first time she'd seen him since his momentous visit to Highever, although he had sent gifts. A lovely gown of red and gold, carnelian earrings carved into the shape of roses. And, surprisingly, he'd sent a portrait of himself, painted on luminescent black velvet, of all things. For someone to have painted on such a fuzzy surface seemed odd, but apparently he'd had them commissioned right after his coronation, and they were quite popular, especially with art collectors in Orlais. Even so, Rhianna didn't find it particularly appealing – neither the style nor the subject. Thankfully, her parents hung it in an out-of-the-way corner of the library, which made it relatively easy for Rhianna to avoid.

Now, Cailan leaned on the railing nearby, but not close enough to touch her. He wouldn't touch her, not here on deck where people might see. They did spend at least a few hours alone every day in his cabin, but he hadn't been terribly pushy with her. He seemed mostly satisfied with kissing, and had asked to do more, but not pressed her when she said no.

To be honest, she didn't really mind any of it. She'd resigned herself to this future, and Cailan was handsome enough to look at. He always smelled nice, and his kisses were pleasant, even if they awakened no flame within her. And he was generous with endearments, whispering how beautiful she was, or how much he loved her; it didn't seem to bother him that she never said similar things to him.

If she had to marry to someone she didn't love, Cailan was at least not repulsive, from a purely aesthetic standpoint.

Now, he smiled down at her, warmth in his eyes, and excitement; it was his first time in Orlais, as well as her own.

"The captain says we'll arrive in Val Royeaux within the hour."

The ostensible reason for the journey was to celebrate First Day at the royal court in Val Royeaux, which promised to be an event beyond anything Rhianna could even imagine. Masquerade balls, and revelry in the streets. The entire city joined together for what sounded in some accounts like a grand party, and in others more like a citywide orgy. In addition to the holiday celebrations, her mother had told her to expect parties and sightseeing trips out into the countryside and visits to all the grand buildings in the city proper. And, of course, the king and the entire Cousland family would be granted an audience with Her Holiness, the Divine. That, at least, was something to look forward to. The thought of receiving a blessing from Andraste's representative here on earth was comforting.

While the stories made Orlais sound wonderful, throughout most of the voyage here, Rhianna neither anticipated nor dreaded any of it. In truth, she just didn't care. Of course, that was the way she felt about most things these days.

But now, as they approached the city, its buildings gleaming white from a distance, she felt a tiny spark of something light up inside her. Perhaps this change of scenery would be just what she needed. Perhaps it was being in Highever, in Ferelden, which was difficult. Back home, there was nowhere she could go to escape her memories of Loghain. But here in Orlais, there would be nothing of him, nothing at all, and plenty of new distractions.

With the salt spray on her face and the sun beating down on her hair as it rippled behind her, Rhianna felt that spark grow just a bit brighter. It wasn't happiness or excitement, not really, not yet. But it was better than feeling nothing at all.

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Even though Rhianna had been warned how much larger it was than Highever, or even Amaranthine or Denerim, she was still awestruck by everything she saw when they arrived at the dock in Val Royeaux. The waterfront alone was as large as all of Highever town, and it bustled with people, more people than Rhianna had ever seen in one place in her entire life.

As they disembarked from the ship, her nostrils were hit by unfamiliar scents: a whiff of exotic perfume; rich tobacco smoke that smelled dark and earthy; the sweet and tangy smell of fruits from the tropics; spices Rhianna was sure she had never before tasted. It was noisy, as well, a chaos that seemed just barely controlled as people went about their business, shouting to one another in languages that were familiar to her ear - Orlesian, Antivan, Fereldan - and others that weren't.

And then there were the people. Everywhere, people dressed in fashions from across the continent. Not just Orlesian masks and lace and feathers, but Antivan leather, Rivaini silks. Colorfully woven fabrics from Seheron. There were people wearing long, dark-colored robes from Tevinter, a dark-skinned woman with wide trousers and boots and a hat with an enormously wide brim, even a pair of bearded men in Avvarian plaids. In addition to the humans, there were dwarves and elves, and here and there above the crowd stood tall men and women with bronze-colored skin and horns growing back from their foreheads. The sight of these Qunari brought back a memory of the assassin she and Loghain had fought, but she pushed the thought away quickly.

The visitors from Ferelden were ushered into carriages sent by the empress to bring them to the Imperial Palace, where they would stay for the duration of their visit. As they made their way through the city, Rhianna had to admit Val Royeaux was beautiful. Many of the buildings were constructed of white stone that gleamed in the sunlight, with pointed spires and sweeping arches that reached high into the sky. Gargoyles with grotesque or amusing faces peeked out from the most unexpected places, and windows made with colored glass sparkled like jewels. The streets were paved with stones much smoother than the rough cobblestones in Highever, and everything looked somehow less dingy than even the best areas of Denerim.

At the intersection of two roads, they drove past an enormous bronze statue of a naked woman, dancing in flames, a sword piercing her chest even as she threw back her head in what looked like laughter. With a start, Rhianna realized it was meant to be Andraste.

Andraste? Naked?

Only in Orlais could such blasphemy be possible.

As they rode through the streets, Rhianna's head spun from the sights and the sounds and the smells. When Cailan nudged her arm and pointed to a woman walking through the street, a stack of hats at least three feet tall perched atop her head, his excitement was infectious. Laughing, she took his hand, and they took turns pointing out one oddity after the next, and his constant chatter was soothing rather than vaguely irritating. To hear him speaking Fereldan in the sea of other languages that drifted in through the carriage windows was quite reassuring.

When they arrived at the palace, the empress was not on hand to greet them; they were met instead by one of Celene's ladies-in-waiting, a gracious woman who introduced herself as Colette. Colette had green eyes, light brown skin just a shade darker than her blonde hair, and a friendly, charming smile. Speaking perfect Fereldan, she escorted them to the quiet wing of the palace where they would stay. There was a central lounge, with doors to their various personal quarters leading off it in several directions. It was also relatively isolated, and thus defensible by the guards Cailan had brought with him, not that anyone expected political trouble of any sort.

Colette assured them that even though Celene was not currently available, the empress would dine with them in the evening. In the meantime, she encouraged them to settle into their temporary quarters, and let them know they were also welcome to wander the gardens, or other parts of the palace.

Rhianna's quarters consisted not of a single room, as she expected, but a suite far more grand than anything she had ever seen before. The door from the common area led into a room clearly intended to be a parlor where she could entertain guests. The decor was beautiful: sofas and chairs upholstered in peach-colored silk with dark orange accents, the wooden furniture carved with scrollwork far more ornate than anything Rhianna had seen in Ferelden. There was a cabinet with spirits and glasses, and a shelf filled with books. The artwork on the wall depicted scenes from history, or what Rhianna assumed was the Orlesian countryside. A fireplace was built into the far wall that separated the sitting room from the bedroom, so the blaze could be enjoyed from both rooms.

The bedroom was even more sumptuous than the parlor. All of the furniture, including the enormous canopy bed, was covered in dark rose colored floral damask. Rugs softer than anything she had walked upon before covered the wooden floors, and on the far wall, the window curtains were drawn back to reveal a view of an ornamental garden one level below. There was a separate bathing chamber off of the bedroom, and a wardrobe with a wide full-length mirror. The scent of roses hung in the air, from the petals that had been scattered across the bed and the carpet, and a glass of some sort of fizzy beverage waited for her on the vanity. She took a sip, and the bubbles tickled her nose, but she enjoyed the light, sweet taste, and sipped from the glass as she spun in place, taking in her luxurious surroundings.

Her final discovery was a gown laid out on the bed, accompanied by a porcelain mask. On top was a note, written in Orlesian, in an ornate hand:

_Ma Petite Souris, _

_I would be grateful if you would wear this gown to dinner this evening. Please consider it a small token of my affection, as I welcome you to Val Royeaux. I am so pleased you have come, and look forward to getting to know you better. _

_Sincerely, _

_Celene_

This wasn't a surprise; Rhianna's mother had told her to expect gifts from the empress, and been quite clear that Rhianna should accept any gifts that were offered, to avoid causing offense.

In this case, it was certainly no hardship. The gown was absolutely beautiful, and unlike anything Rhianna had seen before. It was made of silk, with a shift of blood red, and over the top a bliaut that was dyed in shades of reds and pinks and purples that bled into one another, creating the most gorgeous effect. It seemed light enough to float away on a breeze; she would have to stay indoors, as it would not be sufficient to protect her from the chill winter air outside.

As she slipped it on, she felt a moment of dismay – all her life, she had avoided wearing fashions from Orlais – but the gown was gorgeous, and surely, wearing Orlesian silk just this once would hardly destroy her Fereldan sensibilities. She turned herself around in front of the mirror to see how it looked.

The dress suited her. Very well, in fact. The fabric clung to her upper body, and draped gracefully down from her waist, accentuating her natural curves. Around her neck she fastened the half-sun pendant the empress had given her those many years ago; this was the first time she had ever worn it.

Finally, she lifted the mask to her face. No doubt, she was meant to wear this at dinner; Orlesian nobles rarely allowed their faces to be seen in public. The mask was beautiful, lacquered black, inlaid with silver, and decorated with painted flowers that looked like Andraste's Grace. It was strange, though, seeing herself with only her eyes and mouth visible.

She smiled at her reflection, but the expression quickly faded. How Loghain would have hated seeing her dressed in Orlesian silk, the symbol of Orlais around her neck, a mask on her face.

Of course, what Loghain thought no longer mattered.

She finished the glass of fizzy wine, and poured herself another.

‹›‹O›‹›

As evening fell, the Couslands and the king were collected once again by Colette, who led them through the labyrinthine palace to the dining room, which they would never have found on their own. They arrived to find a flurry of people; apparently this was more than merely "dinner," but something of an event.

Empress Celene sat on a raised platform at one end of the room, in an ornate chair of white-painted wood and gold. She appeared to be the only person in the room not wearing a mask. In spite of nearly ten years having passed, the empress looked almost exactly as Rhianna remembered her, with her face covered in paint and her flaxen hair elaborately styled. She wore a gown in much the same style as Rhianna's, in silk of dark blue and teal, with spiraling embroidered designs upon it.

Cailan was led to the dais first, to be officially presented to the empress, while Bryce, Fergus and Rhianna waited nearby. Rhianna couldn't hear the words Celene and Cailan spoke to one another, but more than once he said something that sent Celene into a peal of laughter, a musical sound that carried throughout the room. When Cailan stepped to the side, the Couslands were ushered forward.

The empress spoke in faintly accented Fereldan. "Teyrn Bryce! And Lord Fergus. It is lovely to see you both again. I trust your journey was pleasant, and the accommodations are to your liking?"

"Of course, Your Excellency," Bryce said cheerfully. "The voyage was perfect, as are the rooms you have provided me and my children."

"Wonderful!" The empress clapped her hands together, as if in delight. Then, she motioned for Rhianna to come closer. "And speaking of your children, I am so happy to see your lovely daughter! I cannot tell you how pleased I am that you have finally brought her to visit me."

Speaking Orlesian, she now addressed Rhianna directly, a bright smile on her face. "Ah, Rhianna Cousland, _ma petite souris_! I am so very glad you are here." She laughed. "I hope you are not offended by the little nickname I have for you. After meeting you all those years ago, I found myself always thinking of you as a little mouse, like the one in the fairy tale."

"The fairy tale?" Rhianna asked in Orlesian.

"You do not know the story of the little mouse?"

"No, Your Radiance, I do not know it."

"In the tale, the little mouse is really a fairy princess, who changes herself into a mouse to help the good queen take back what was stolen from her. The little mouse sneaks into the bed of the evil king, and makes all his teeth fall out, and that is how the fairy saves the kingdom." Celene chuckled. "It is a silly story, is it not? But more than that, I can see you are grown now, no longer a little mouse at all. I once thought your Queen Anora was the only truly gracious woman in Ferelden, a solitary rose among brambles. But you are no bramble; you have become a very beautiful young woman. So I shall have to think of a new nickname for you, once we have had time to get to know one another. What do you think of the gown?"

"It's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, and the colors are gorgeous. I've never had anything like it before. Thank you so much for such a thoughtful gift."

"You are most welcome. And I can see I chose well; it looks stunning on you. As does the charm I gave you so many years ago. And now, if you will indulge me, there is someone I would like very much for you to meet." She gestured to a man standing nearby.

The man who approached wore a mask fashioned of some dark wood – mahogany, or ebony perhaps – with elaborate scrollwork carvings. She could not see enough of his face to even guess at his age, but his skin was a shade lighter than the wood of his mask, his eyes were dark brown, and his closely-trimmed beard framed lips that were perfectly formed, his upper lip the shape of a tightly-strung bow. He was slight of build, and not particularly tall, and wore a dark red doublet over a white shirt and dark trousers, with a black cloak slung across his shoulders. His clothes were rather plain compared to most of the other Orlesian men in the hall; he could have almost passed for Fereldan, if not for the mask.

Celene smiled widely. "I would like to introduce to you my cousin: his Imperial Highness, Gauvain Presd'eaux, _prince du sang_, _duc du Chevin_." Celene turned to the man, "Gauvain, this is Lady Rhianna Cousland, the Teyrn of Highever's lovely daughter."

"Lady Cousland." The man inclined his head to her, and then took one of her hands and brought it to his lips in a courtly gesture common in Orlais. Speaking Fereldan, he added, "I am very pleased to make your acquaintance."

Then he smiled. His eyes were warm and friendly, and very expressive, and when she returned the smile, he winked, so quickly she thought she might have imagined it.

Her face grew warm, and she made a slight curtsey, "Thank you. I am pleased to meet you, as well, Your Imperial Highness."

The empress clapped her hands together, smiling. "This is such a happy moment for me. I have been waiting to introduce the two of you for a great many years." Ah. It seemed Rhianna was right; Celene almost certainly hoped to arrange a marriage between Rhianna and this cousin.

"And now, my dear," she began, still addressing Rhianna, but in Fereldan this time, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"A favor? What is it, Your Radiance?"

"As you know, we are to have a _bal masque_ in three days time, in honor of King Cailan's visit. I assume that either your father or your brother intend to be your escort for the evening. But you see, I have a small problem: there are a great many ladies in my court who would love to have a handsome foreign man - someone from Ferelden, for example - escort them to the ball. So, if you will agree to allow yourself to attend the ball with someone else, the ladies would have both your brother and father to fight over, instead of just one or the other. And this would make them very happy. Therefore, if it is not too much to ask, I thought you might allow my cousin to escort you instead. He is not nearly as charming as either of the men in your family, but I can promise he is a good dancer and will make certain you enjoy yourself."

There was clearly no truth to the story about the ladies at court; this was a poorly veiled attempt to push Rhianna and this cousin together. Even so, there seemed to be no harm in cooperating. Cailan wouldn't escort Rhianna to the ball; he was to be Celene's partner for the evening. And Rhianna's first impression of this cousin was pleasant.

"I would be happy to attend the ball with your cousin. Assuming," she turned to her father and brother, "the two of you don't mind being set out as _hors d'oeuvres_ for the ladies of Val Royeaux?" Fergus laughed, and Bryce inclined his head, indicating he would do what was being asked of him without complaint.

The cousin – was he a prince, or a duke? - inclined his head toward her. "I am glad to hear this, my lady. It will be my pleasure to escort you to the ball."

"Thank you, ser." Again, Rhianna felt her cheeks grow warm beneath her mask.

"Excellent! It is settled then!" The empress laughed merrily, and gestured for Rhianna to step close. "Do not concern yourself with your attire for the ball, my dear. I have something for you to wear, something I feel certain you will enjoy. If that is all right with you?"

"I would be most grateful, Your Radiance. I've never been to a party like this before, and I don't have any idea what would be appropriate. So, thank you."

A few minutes later, dinner was announced. Celene's cousin offered Rhianna his arm, and escorted her to the place she had been assigned at the table, which just happened to be beside him. On Rhianna's other side was an extremely old woman whose extremely tall wig seemed in danger of falling off her head with even the slightest breath of wind. Servants in livery brought out trays of _hors d'oeuvres_ – crème fraiche with cured meats on flatbread, and glazed figs and mascarpone cheese, wrapped in uncooked, dry cured ham. Before Rhianna had finished her aperitif – an extremely dry, earthy white wine that had been served very cold – it became clear that the woman beside her was completely deaf, and unable to hear anything Rhianna said.

Rhianna gave up trying, and turned to the man beside her instead.

"The empress said you're her cousin, yes? She introduced you as a 'prince of the blood,' but I don't know exactly how you are related."

"Family relations can be confusing, and I will be happy to explain. Celene and I are first cousins. Celene's mother was the youngest sister of my mother. And also, of course, the sister of Emperor Florian, who ruled before Celene."

"All right, that makes sense. And you are also the duke of Val Chevin? Do I have that right?"

"You do, indeed, _mademoiselle_."

"Good. Now, with any luck I'll be able to keep it all straight in my head. If I get something wrong, please promise to correct me, Your Imperial Highness. Unless you prefer 'Your Grace'?"

He chuckled softly, and shrugged his shoulders as he leaned closer. "To be honest, if it is not too forward so soon after we have met, I would much prefer if you would call me by my first name. Gauvain. Unless, of course, this makes you uncomfortable in any way." It was odd not being able to see his expression, but his eyes were warm, and looked sincere.

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable at all. And you're welcome to call me Rhianna."

"Rhianna. A beautiful name."

Heat rose up in her face, and she was grateful when servants interrupted to clear away the first set of dishes, and set down the second course: fillets of haddock with shallots and carrots, glazed in a delicious sauce of ginger and saffron.

"So," she began, sipping the new wine she had been served – a full-bodied white wine that lingered on her tongue. "Your mother is Florian's sister? Which means she is also related to Meghren, the Usurper?" Her eyes grew wide. "Oh! I'm sorry. You probably don't call him that here, do you?"

"No," Gauvain chuckled. "We do not call him Usurper. Actually, we call him Meghren _Fou_, or Meghren the Mad."

"Meghren the Mad?" Rhianna laughed with relief. "That's not any nicer, is it?"

"From what I understand, the man did not deserve better. He was a despot, and cruel, and probably genuinely mad. And yes, he was first cousin to my mother. I never actually met him, though. He had already gone to Ferelden before I was born."

"What about your mother? Is she still alive?"

"Yes. She lives in Val Chevin very near where I live. I keep trying to convince her to move into the castle with me, but she refuses. She prefers to do things her own way."

"And what about your father?"

"My father was a chevalier. He was killed at the Battle of River Dane."

Her smile faltered. "River Dane?" A name forever linked in her mind with Loghain; she pushed the memory of his face away. "That was a long time ago. How old were you? Do you remember him at all?"

"I was four years old when he died. And yes, I have a few memories. Very vague memories. I remember his beard, and the way he wore his hair: long, in a multitude of small braids. He was a big man. Very tall, and broad. His mother – my grandmother – was from Rivain, and his skin was even darker than my own. The thing I remember most was that I felt so small compared to him. My mother used to tell me I would grow to be just as tall as my father, but that did not happen. Well, I am nearly as tall, but not anywhere near as broad."

When the fish was cleared away, Rhianna was served a small dish of lemon sorbet, its sharp citrus taste clearing her palate.

"Now, I am curious about your family," Gauvain said. "Are you and your brother the only children?"

"Yes, it's just Fergus and I. He is married, though, to a woman from Antiva, and they have a young son. His name is Oren, and he's quite darling. As to the rest of the family, there's my father and mother, of course. And my mother has a sister, and her daughter, who live in Starkhaven. But that's it really. All my grandparents are dead."

"Well, this makes things easier for me. There is no tangle of cousins and and aunts and uncles for me to have to try and keep straight."

At this point, they were interrupted as the servants brought out the meat course, as elaborate a spread as anything Rhianna could ever have imagined: roast suckling pigs, pheasant and peafowl, swans and geese. Sausages that smelled of rosemary, sage, and nutmeg. Plates of artichokes stuffed with ground meats, and sliced aubergines _au gratin_. Her glass was filled with a lush, full-bodied red wine, and she had to remind herself not to drink it too quickly; she already felt light-headed from the wine that had come before.

As she contemplated the huge array of food in front of her, she thought of a question that might sound a bit ignorant. But this cousin seemed friendly, and unlikely to judge harshly, so she decided she would ask.

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course. Anything."

"I hope this won't mark me as a hopeless foreigner, but I'm curious about the masks. I understand Orlesians wear them – at least the nobility does – most of the time? But I don't really understand why."

"Ah, yes. You have no such custom in Ferelden. I will try to explain. In Orlais, the art of mask-making is of great importance, and very competitive. The beauty, the quality, and the style – each mask is a work of art, and indicates the affluence of one's family. Having a more beautiful mask than one's rival gives an advantage; you will see this in full force on the night of the _bal masque._ But even tonight, and anytime we go out in public, we wear masks that show our wealth, and our family's status. To been seen in public without a mask is a sign of being not important enough to warrant one. Even the servants of the nobility wear masks – much simpler than those of their employers, of course. But only a commoner with no noble connections allows his or her face to be seen out in public. If you notice, the mask you are wearing, and that of your father and brother, are very similar in design – this is a way of showing that you are related by blood. And Celene made certain that the masks she provided for you were of the best workmanship possible, to bring honor upon your family."

"If they're so important, why then does the Empress not wear one?"

"Ah! Yes, I can see how that would be confusing. Celene wears no mask as a way of showing that she is above such things. Her standing is undisputed, and so she has no need to play this game with the rest of us. To be honest, I do not care much for such political intrigues, and I wear the mask mainly to please my cousin. We do not always bother with such things back in Val Chevin, where I live most of the year." He held her gaze, and she had no desire to look away. His eyes were . . . fascinating.

"Val Chevin. That's not far from here. I remember Captain Rackham pointing it out yesterday. What's it like there?"

"Val Chavin is lovely. And quiet, for a city of its size. There is a lot of farming in the area, and breeding of livestock. Sheep and horses, mostly. Some pigs. We have a river that runs north of the city, flowing down from the mountains near Arlesans. And beautiful countryside. Very beautiful." He smiled, and his eyes grew slightly unfocused, as though he were seeing something else in his mind. "In fact, right now is my favorite time of year. The early spring, when tulips and hyacinths and daffodils come into bloom, sometimes breaking right through the snows to do it. And then the snows melt, and the grass comes up, so bright green it always seems unexpected, somehow, even though it happens every year. And then the fields are filled with color - green and red and yellow and blue. It takes my breath away." He met her eyes again, and they were so warm, so expressive.

She forced herself to smile. "It sounds perfect. We have . . . we have wildflower meadows in the foothills like that in Ferelden, where the colors are almost unbelievable. Have you ever been to Ferelden?"

"No, I have not. Tell me about it. Please."

A smile crept across her face. "Ferelden is . . . beautiful. As you probably know, Highever is on the coast, and I would guess the terrain and climate are not all that different from Val Chevin. In the Coastlands, we have beautiful beaches and mountains and old forests, and to the south are the hills and open plains of the Bannorn, fertile land for farming. Beyond that is the Brecilian Forest, which is huge and very ancient, but I've never been there. I've only seen it from a distance." She was about to start talking about sailing with Fergus, when she realized she was rambling, and her companion might not truly be interested in hearing every detail of Fereldan geography.

But he was watching her with a half smile, his eyes rapt on her masked face. "It sounds lovely."

Perhaps he didn't mind her rambling after all.

"It is lovely," she replied, not quite able to take her eyes off of the parts of his face she could see. "I've always believed Ferelden must be the most beautiful place in all the world. Not that I've seen the rest of the world. Before this trip, I'd only been to the Free Marches, but I am sure nowhere else could ever be as dear to me as Ferelden. Perhaps that's part of what makes it so beautiful. Although I must admit, from what I saw today, Val Royeaux is far prettier, and far more grand than any city I've seen before, even Starkhaven."

"Ah." His half smile crept all the way across his lips, as he leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. "So, you find yourself charmed by our capital, then?"

"Charmed?" She grinned. "I'm not sure I'd go that far. My first impression is that Val Royeaux will be a lovely place to visit. The architecture is beautiful, and I suspect there are a great many amazing sights to be seen. But I also think I shall find it overwhelming before too much time passes. It's so big, and there are so many people here. Even Denerim isn't this crowded. How do you stand it? I would go mad being surrounded all the time by all these people."

Gauvain chuckled. "Val Royeaux is not like anywhere else in the world. And I think you are right; it takes a certain sort of person to survive here for any length of time. This is why I spend most of my time in Val Chevin."

By now, the meat course was finished, and another small bowl of sorbet was placed in front of her, accompanied by a delicate silver spoon. This time, the chilled treat was flavored with apple brandy.

"So," Gauvain began, "it sounds to me as though you prefer the country to the city? Is that so?"

"Yes, definitely."

"I am the same way, and spend as much time outdoors as my other duties will allow. Do you ride? It is my understanding that horses are not as common in Ferelden as they are here in Orlais, but perhaps I am mistaken?"

"You're not mistaken; horses are fairly uncommon in Ferelden. I am fortunate in having a mount of my own, though. A destrier, from Nevarran stock. Like you, I ride as often as possible, usually with my hound and my goshawk. To be honest, I've been missing them all rather terribly. Dane, especially - my mabari - was angry with me for going on a journey like this without him. But I left him at home, as it's my understanding dogs aren't quite as well-loved here in Orlais as they are in Ferelden."

"Who told you that? We like dogs well enough." Then, an almost mischievous grin stole across his face. "Well, perhaps not as much as you like them in Ferelden. We keep them around the house, and in the yard, but we don't prefer to sleep with them. You do know that is one of the things Orlesians say about people from Ferelden?"

"What? You say we sleep with our hounds? No," Rhianna laughed. "I didn't know that."

"Oh yes, but I am assuming it is like many of the other things we say, and not actually true."

Rhianna stifled a burst of laughter.

"What is it? You find something about this amusing?'

"Amusing? Actually, I'd say it's rather awkward."

"Awkward?" He pursed his lips questioningly. "In what way?"

"It's just that . . . oh . . ." She gave a short laugh. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I have to admit that Dane does sleep in my bed with me. Not every night, but sometimes. Most of the time, really. He's not fond of sleeping on the floor unless the weather is excessively warm."

Gauvain went silent for a moment, then burst into laughter, loud enough that people turned to look. "Lady Cousland, Rhianna, I . . . I really do not know what to say to this. Please correct me if I am wrong, but mabari hounds are not small?"

"No, they're not small. Dane is nearly as big as a pony. My nephew - who is five years old - still tries to ride around on his back."

"And this is the dog you sleep with. In your bed?" His eyes were bright, and his lips curved into an amused smile.

"Yes." Rhianna giggled. It sounded ridiculous when he said it like that. Her cheeks grew warm, and again she was grateful for the mask. "I think perhaps I should not have admitted that. Of course, I don't blame you for not wanting to sleep with your dogs. I haven't seen anything remotely resembling a proper dog since I arrived in Val Royeaux." She lifted her chin. "Those yappy little things that sit on laps? They look more like rats with hair. I wouldn't want something like that in my bed, either."

Again he raised a brow at her, a look of great amusement in his eyes, as plates with hard and soft cheeses were served, along with grapes and strawberries and peaches.

"I don't suppose," she said hurriedly, "you know anything about cheese production here in Orlais. I'm very fond of cheese."

He chuckled, deep in his chest. "I think you are trying to change the subject."

"Me? Change the subject? Why would I want to do that?" She sighed loudly, and finally she laughed. "Maker's breath. Sleeping with dogs. Now you're going think Fereldans really are barbaric. So, let's see what I can do to salvage the reputation of my countrymen. Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me something else Orlesians say about us. I'm sure we can come up with at least one rumor that isn't true."

"All right, let's see," His eyes narrowed in thought. "How about these? It is well known you Fereldans bathe only once a year, and you have rejected the teachings of the Chantry in favor of worshipping trees and rocks and things. And when you drove the Imperium out of your lands, you destroyed all their books, which is why you are living in a Dark Age," he sat up straighter, and looked down at her, a hint of amusement barely disguised in his voice, "unlike the enlightened rest of the world. Of which Orlais is, of course, the pinnacle." He winked at her, and a wide smile erupted across his face again.

"Well, thank the Maker for all that," Rhianna replied. "I really was afraid you were going to say something horrible I wouldn't have been able to deny. Not that sleeping with dogs is horrible. I mean I wouldn't do it if it was horrible. Dane is quite cuddly and warm. But as to the rest of it, I can assure you most Fereldans - all the Fereldans I've ever known - are proper Andrastians. And, we have books. A lot of books. I can even read a bit of ancient Tevene, and recite a few horrid old love poems in that language."

"Ah, these things are good to hear. I am pleased things are not as dire in Ferelden as I had been led to believe. And I am intrigued by the thought of you reciting Tevene love poetry." Something in his voice sent a fluttering through her chest. "I did notice, however, you didn't mention anything about baths. Perhaps there is something you are trying to hide?" The mischievous grin had returned. Quite a charming grin, as a matter of fact. It was strange not being able to see all of his face, but it meant she was able to study his lips in detail, and Gauvain's lips were . . . quite attractive.

"Don't be ridiculous." She used what she hoped was a scathing tone. "Of course we bathe more often than once a year. I'm fairly certain I've taken at least . . . um . . ." She pretended to count in her head, "three baths already this year, and might even manage a fourth before First Day." She winked at him, and again he burst into appreciative laughter.

"Well, I am relieved to hear that. The idea of an entire country full of people never bothering to clean themselves always sounded quite dreadful."

"Yes, I expect it would be. But I promise, we bathe. Well, I bathe anyway." She leaned closer to him and whispered, "There have been times I used to suspect my brother skipped some of his baths." They both glanced at Fergus, who was seated directly across the table. "But I don't think his wife allows him to get away with that any longer."

When they both chuckled, their heads close together, Fergus noticed their interest, and began to smile, but when he saw his sister's grin, he frowned, deeply. He must have guessed he was the butt of some joke, and crossed his arms and gave them what was probably a stern look behind his mask, but that only sent Rhianna and her companion into even more laughter.

Rhianna smiled at Fergus, and blew him a kiss across the table to sooth any potentially hurt feelings. He shook his head, no doubt unsurprised after years of being teased by a rather cheeky little sister.

Now, the last course was brought to the table: desserts, and a very sweet white wine that tasted more of raisins than of grapes. Rhianna had never seen so many delicacies. Cream puffs with dark chocolate sauce, apricot and blueberry tarts, baked crème brûlée, meringue with amaretto cream. It was difficult to put even another bite in her mouth, but it all looked so wonderful she didn't want to leave anything untasted.

"There is one other thing I have heard about Fereldans," Gauvain began, between bites of a lemon soufflé, "but I do not have to ask whether or not it is true."

"Indeed? What's that?"

"That in Ferelden, you cannot tell the difference between the men and the women."

"What?" Rhianna's eyes grew wide. "You're making that up. People here don't actually say that about us. Do they?"

"Oh yes, they do indeed. Your women are said to be tall and stocky and ugly, with puffy faces and red cheeks from running around outside all day with their dogs. And they wear trousers all the time just like the men."

"My, we sound like a rather unattractive people, don't we? You'll have to take my word for it when I say I'm not red-cheeked and puffy. At least I don't think I am. Although . . ." she allowed a mischievous tone to creep into her voice. "I will admit I personally do prefer trousers. It's difficult to sit a horse while wearing a gown. I am unusual in this way, though. As a rule, most Fereldan women do wear gowns."

"Oh, Rhianna!" He struggled not to burst into laughter yet again. "I am going to pretend I did not hear you say that. I am still overwhelmed by your admission about sleeping with your dog." When he couldn't contain his laughter, Rhianna joined in.

"However," he continued, once the laughter had ceased, "as I said, I already knew the truth about this one particular rumor." His voice deepened, and he spoke more slowly than before. "I can see for myself," his eyes lingered on hers for a moment, then he slid his gaze downward, to the neckline of her gown, then farther, before he once again met her eyes, "that there is at least one woman from Ferelden who looks absolutely nothing like a man. I have no doubt, even were you wearing trousers, I would be able to tell the difference."

When he smiled at her, the mischief was gone, replaced by something much warmer, and he held her gaze a few heartbeats longer than usual before looking away.

Rhianna's cheeks grew warm again, but not with embarrassment. Unless she was mistaken, he had just flirted with her.

And she had enjoyed it.

She forced herself not to smile. "You know, there are things we Fereldans say about people from Orlais. I wonder how many of them are true."

"Oh, please, do share with me what you say about us. I promise I will tell the truth. Well, so long as it is not too embarrassing. Not any more embarrassing, say, than sleeping with one's dog."

Rhianna giggled. "I'm not going to live that down anytime soon, am I?"

"I don't think so, no." He sounded almost regretful.

A man's voice rang out across the room. "_Mesdames et monsieurs_, dinner has come to an end. If you will please proceed to the ballroom, the dancing will commence momentarily."

"Dancing? I thought this was just dinner. There's to be dancing as well?"

"My cousin is quite fond of dancing," Gauvain replied, as he stood and offered Rhianna his arm. "So she uses just about any excuse to offer it to her guests. I trust you like to dance?"

"I do."

"Then perhaps you will give me the honor of the first dance of the evening? And some of the others as well?"

Again, her cheeks grew warm. "I should like that very much."

Arm in arm, Gauvain led her to the ballroom, and when the music began, she discovered that the empress' cousin moved with impeccable grace and timing.

She danced twice with Gauvain, and would have danced a third time if another man had not approached them, asking permission to cut in. Gauvain bowed and stepped back, and Rhianna found herself dancing with a man with very blue eyes. Beneath the bottom edge of his mask, his long beard was parted down the middle, and pulled into two separate bunches, each of which came to a point. She wasn't quite sure how he got it to stay that way; some sort of wax or pomade no doubt; perhaps that was what gave the scent that came off him, a strong but not unpleasant odor of apples and rosemary.

At the end of the dance, he took her by the arm and led her off of the floor. "Permit me to introduce myself," he said in Fereldan. "I am Duke Prosper de Montfort, a friend of the empress. And I understand you are visiting here from Ferelden?"

"Yes, I'm Rhianna Cousland, from Highever."

The man smiled warmly, and bowed. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Cousland." He began to cross the room, pulling her along with him determinedly, as though he feared she might try and break free. They approached another man with the same blue eyes. "I should like you to meet my son, Cyril," de Monfort said. To the young man, "Cyril, this is Lady Rhianna Cousland. The daughter of the Teyrn of Highever. Perhaps you should ask the young lady for a dance." With that, de Monfort gave a wide smile, then turned and walked away.

"Well, that was subtle," the young man said, also speaking Fereldan. He turned to Rhianna. "I apologize for my father, Lady Cousland. He is worried I will never find a wife, and apparently finds this so troubling he pounces upon any reasonably eligible young lady and forces these awkward introductions." He had an expressive half-smile that showed a hint of embarrassment.

"I see," Rhianna laughed. "I suppose you're an only child?"

"However did you guess?"

"Well, I promise not to force myself on you in any way. I didn't come to Orlais to find a husband."

He grinned. "Well, that is good to hear. Not that you're not a lovely young woman. I'm sure you are. But I . . . well . . ." His voice trailed off. "Perhaps you would like to dance? It would make my father happy. Not that this should matter to you, but . . . I must admit, I would not mind dancing, for my own sake, as well. If you are agreeable?"

"Of course."

After dancing with Lord Cyril, she danced with a few other partners, including one dance with Cailan, who seemed more than a little bit drunk, and giddy with excitement at the wonders of the Orlesian court, and one with her brother, who just seemed vaguely amused by the spectacle. Toward the end of the evening, Gauvain approached her again, and she danced the final two dances of the evening with him.

When the musicians put down their instruments, he led her from the dance floor, his hand at her elbow.

"It was a pleasure to speak with you, and dance with you this evening, Rhianna."

"Thank you. It was my pleasure; I enjoyed the evening as well."

"Good. Then I trust I have given you no reason to rescind your generous permission for me to escort you to the _bal masque_ three days from now?"

"Of course not. I shall look forward to it more than ever."

"I am pleased to hear that. And I think perhaps we shall see one another again, even before the ball."

"I hope so."

He gazed into her eyes for the space of a few heartbeats, then bowed, once again kissing the back of her hand; the contact of his lips against her skin caused a brief flutter in her stomach.

"Good evening, Lady Cousland."

She watched him walk away; though he was slender, he filled out his trousers admirably.

They never did finish their discussion about what people from Ferelden believe about Orlesians. That was good; it would give them an easy topic of conversation next time they met.

"So, what did you think of the empress' cousin?" She turned to find Fergus at her side.

"I liked him well enough. He seems very nice." In fact, she liked the man rather more than she would have expected ever liking someone from Orlais. Especially the empress' cousin, who was supposed to have been ancient and ugly and wearing a horrible powdered wig. She didn't say any of these things to Fergus, though. She felt more than a bit confused, in truth, and it seemed better to keep these thoughts to herself for the moment.

She slipped her arm through the crook of his elbow. "And how would you like to escort me back to my quarters, Fussy? That way, if we get lost in this ridiculously huge palace, at least we'll have one another for company?"

"Of course. I'll be more than happy to escort you. And," he pretended to glower, "along the way you can tell me just what it was you said about me at dinner. The thing you and your companion found so ridiculously amusing."

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A big thank you, as always, to my fabulous beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: Onion 926, DjinnieGenie, Hannahhobnob, KatDancer2, Milly-finalfantasy, Ellethe, Seth Motley, SwomeeSwan, Melysande, Kira Tamarion, KrystylSky, Shan Temperance, AddisonCousland, Dragonmactir, Tyrannosaurustex, Arsinoe de Blassenville, Cotton Strings, Tevinter of our Discontent, GLCW2, Purplechaos3214, Golden Naginata, Psyche Sinclair, Rena Hawke, and a Guest. Your support is an inspiration to me.

Oh! And there is a song to accompany this chapter. Rhianna (aka me) singing "Rose Red." You can find it in Chapter 3 of the "Extras" link on my profile. There is also a dollmaker image of some of the party guests; also available in the "Extras."

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	69. Unshaken by the darkness

_**20 Haring, 9:29 Dragon  
****Val Royeaux**_**  
**

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As Rhianna stood in the center aisle of the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux, her heart beat just a little bit faster than usual. Being here in the cathedral was almost overwhelming; everything was so stunningly beautiful. The graceful arches that soared over her head. The ethereal sound of the Chant of Light being sung from somewhere up above. The stained glass windows that sparkled with color, like a million bright jewels. It was easy to believe Andraste was somewhere nearby, smiling lovingly down upon her people, and that perhaps even the Maker was watching.

For the first time in months, everything else fell away - all the heartache and sorrow and anger - and she just took in the beauty before her eyes.

That morning after breakfast, Colette - the woman who had shown them to their rooms yesterday - arrived in the common area of the wing where the Fereldans were staying. Apparently, this was considered a private space, as she wore no mask on her face. Neither did the man who accompanied her. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and something about him grabbed Rhianna's attention.

He was handsome, undeniably so, with dark hair just long enough to form gentle waves across his forehead and above his ears, and a closely-trimmed mustache and beard. His skin was the color of mahogany and his features were delicate, so much so they could almost be called "pretty." And there was something familiar about him.

When he caught sight of Rhianna, his brow creased, and his lips parted, as if he were surprised, or displeased. Just as she started to wonder if something was wrong, she realized what was familiar. His eyes, dark and warm, and the shape of his lips - this was Gauvain, the empress' cousin.

He'd seemed so friendly at dinner the night before. Why was he staring at her now with such an odd expression?

Then, their eyes met, and his brow smoothed, and his eyes brightened. Perhaps nothing was wrong, after all. She returned his smile, feeling suddenly shy, and had to force her attention back to what Colette was saying.

"Empress Celene has asked me and Gauvain to escort all of you around Val Royeaux today, anywhere you would like to go. And if you are not certain what there is to see, I will be happy to make suggestions."

"I quite fancy seeing the Grand Cathedral," Cailan said, a touch of excitement in his voice. "And maybe the crypts underneath the city? And the university."

"All worthy suggestions, and the Grand Cathedral will be an excellent place to start. And while we are there, I will arrange for you to have an audience with Her Holiness, the Divine." As Colette went on to discuss plans for the day, Rhianna glanced at Gauvain again. He _was_ handsome. More handsome than she'd ever imagined, while talking to him last night. In black trousers, with a doublet of dark green over a bright white shirt, he looked quite dashing. Looking at him made her feel almost dizzy. Their eyes met again, and her cheeks grew warm.

It didn't take long to prepare for the day's adventure, and within a few minutes - now with masks in place - the party from Ferelden and their two chaperones, along with half a dozen of Cailan's guards, left the palace in a pair of horse-drawn carriages. The air was cold enough that Rhianna could see her breath, but the sky was perfectly clear and brilliant blue, and the winter sun shone brightly, showing off this beautiful city to her best advantage. Gleaming white buildings made of marothine stone, quarried in the mountains between Tevinter and Antiva, and known for its ability to remain almost magically clean. Reflecting pools with ducks swimming placidly on mirror-smooth water. Statues and triumphal arches, graceful bridges that crossed the river that bisected the city. Rhianna and Fergus rode with Gauvain, who pointed out noteworthy sights along the way.

As promised, they headed first toward the Grand Cathedral. Even before they reached the cathedral itself, Rhianna heard its music: the Chant of Light being sung by a choir from somewhere inside.

"Here in Val Royeaux," Gauvain explained, "there is never a time when the Chant of Light cannot be heard. It is sung continually, from start to finish, and as soon as the choir comes to the end, they start again at the beginning. As I'm sure you know, the Chant is very long, and takes two weeks to sing just once through. Even so, there is never a break in the singing. Members of the choir merely rotate in and out regularly, so their voices remain fresh and beautiful. At any time, day or night, you will hear Andraste's words being sung, as though they have drifted down from where she sits at the side of the Maker himself."

The cathedral itself was almost too grand to be believed. Originally a fortress, it had been converted into a place of worship centuries before, and from the outside, the walls and towers and spires stretched upwards to what seemed an almost impossible height. Inside, it shone with bright marble and gold plating, floors inlaid with greenstone, and windows filled with colored glass that sparkled brilliantly. It was more beautiful than anything Rhianna had ever seen before. Some of the windows appeared to be purely decorative, in round patterns reminiscent of the petals of a rose. But along both sides of the long central nave and above the altar there was a series of windows that depicted the story of Andraste's life.

There were thirteen panels in all, each showing a different moment in the life of the beloved Prophet: a baby held in the arms of a woman outside a small seaside hut; a young girl being dragged onto a slave ship. A tall woman, dressed all in white, her sword raised and a crowd of people behind her: slaves from Tevinter being led to freedom. There were panels illustrating her victories in Amaranthine, and in Kirkwall, and one that showed her singing beside a campfire while others watched her, rapt. There was the moment she was betrayed by her husband, Maferath, and given into the hands of the Tevinters, who wanted to stop her from spreading the song of freedom throughout Thedas.

In the penultimate panel, Andraste was tied to a stake, and a pyre burned at her feet: the moment of her martyrdom. She was not the only figure pictured, however; a man stood beside her, his sword piercing her breast: Archon Hessarian. The archon had been one of Andraste's tormentors, but in those final moments of her life, he had seen the truth in her words, in the Chant of Light. Out of mercy, he killed her quickly, so she would not suffer the pain of the flames. Rhianna liked this window best, for its brilliant colors - dark blues and purples of the night sky, contrasted with orange and yellow flames, and the amber glory of Andraste's flowing hair - but also for the story. The tale of Hessarian's conversion had always seemed one of the most important moments of Andraste's life.

On the far wall, above the altar, was the thirteenth and final window, larger than any of the others. Unsurprisingly, it showed Andraste, smiling and whole. She wore a gown of sapphire blue and sat at the side of the Maker, having finally become his bride for all eternity. In one hand she held the Sword of Mercy, and in the other burned the Flame of Truth, and beside her the Maker sat on his throne, his hand on her shoulder, his face turned to gaze upon the one he held beloved above all others.

Of course, Rhianna had read this story countless times, and seen many illustrations in books and tapestries. But something about the windows - how the light came through them, sparkling and radiant - made it seem as though the characters were alive, and it seemed richer and more real than it ever had before.

Now, as she stood in the center of the aisle, she wanted to take off her mask and see more of this glorious sight all at once. She didn't dare, though; even though no one seemed to be paying her any attention, she wouldn't risk someone noticing and having cause to say the visitors from Ferelden were anything other than proper. Instead, she turned slowly around in a circle, her eyes taking in every inch of the Cathedral in turn.

A gentle hand on her arm interrupted her reverie, and she stopped spinning and found Gauvain standing beside her.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, my lady, but the Divine would like to see you now."

The Fereldan visitors were led to another building: a long, wide hall with high ceilings, and banners covering the walls. A red carpet ran up the center, all the way up the stairs at the far end, where the Divine sat upon a throne even more ornate than that of Empress Celene herself.

Beatrix the Third was the spiritual leader of the Chantry throughout Thedas, except in Tevinter where they did not recognize her authority, and she had served as the Divine for a great many years. She wore yellow robes, and her face was pale underneath a triangular hat of white and dark red. She wore no mask; apparently members of the Chantry were also exempt from the "game" Gauvain had mentioned the night before.

Cailan was called forward first. He knelt at the bottom of the steps, and the Divine raised her hands above him to offer a blessing. Then Bryce stepped forward; he, too, knelt while the Divine spoke a few words of prayer.

Next, Rhianna approached the Divine, and knelt as Cailan and her father had done before. The woman smiled down at Rhianna; up close, Rhianna could see deep lines etched into her face, especially at the corners of her eyes. Her eyes were kind, though, and her smile seemed genuine.

"What is your name, child?"

"Rhianna Cousland."

"Rhianna. An unusual name, one I have not often heard before." She stared into Rhianna's eyes for the space of a breath, and a slight frown marred her face. "Step closer."

Rhianna climbed the stairs, and knelt upon the top step.

"Please remove your mask and give me your hand, child."

This seemed odd; neither her father nor Cailan had been asked such a thing. But when the Divine reached out her hand, Rhianna did as she was asked. The woman's skin was cool and soft, and felt very thin, as though it would tear easily if Rhianna grasped too tightly. She felt a pulse, but wasn't sure if it was the Divine's heartbeat or Rhianna's own thrumming steadily in her palm.

"There is a light in you, child," Beatrix murmured, "a light that shines very brightly. But surrounding you, so much darkness. You will need to be strong in order to conquer it. Very strong. But do not be afraid, for Andraste will be with you." Her eyes narrowed, and she paused as she took a deep breath and looked directly into Rhianna's eyes. "The Beloved Prophet will be at your side, and will not just watch from afar, but will touch your life in a way she has touched few others. So do not fear the future; just do what you know in your heart to be right. But you must be strong, my child, for without you, the darkness will prevail."

A chill ran down her spine. Darkness? What was that supposed to mean?

The Divine released Rhianna's hand, and sat straighter in her seat. She placed a hand on Rhianna's shoulder, and held the other above the girl's head.

"_The one who repents, who has faith  
Unshaken by the darkness of the world  
She shall know true peace_.

_The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world  
And into the next._"

"Transfigurations, tenth chapter, first verse," Rhianna replied automatically.

Beatrix chuckled softly. "That's right, my dear girl. And I urge you to take it to heart. I think perhaps the Maker intended that verse especially for you." She gestured for Rhianna to stand. "May the Maker watch over you always, Rhianna Cousland."

"May the Maker watch over us all." Rhianna pushed herself up to her feet. "Thank you, Your Holiness."

"You are most welcome."

Rhianna walked backwards as she descended the stops, rather than turn her back on the Divine, and a moment later Fergus was ushered forward. Rhianna's mind spun as she took her place beside her father. What had it meant? Without her the darkness would prevail? What darkness? And Rhianna had been the only one who received such a message, rather than just a blessing from the Chant. Why? What did it mean?

Darkness. It was frightening, to think of being surrounded by darkness. She had never grown out of her fear of the dark, after being locked away in the tower. But perhaps that's not really what the Divine meant. Perhaps she meant some sort of metaphorical darkness. Her marriage? The trials she would face as queen? It still made no sense, though, especially the part about Andraste. Andraste would touch her life? Why would the Beloved Prophet take any notice of Rhianna at all? Although the idea that she would feel "true peace" someday was reassuring.

At her side, her father looked down at her, his brow creased with curiosity, but she didn't answer his unspoken question. She wasn't sure what there was to say, and she also wasn't sure she wanted to share what had happened with anyone else. Not yet, anyway.

When they left the audience hall, Colette and Gauvain appeared. "I wonder," Colette asked, "if you would all be interested in climbing the Chantry steps? They are off-limit to the public, but I have arranged special permission for you today. The view from the top is magnificent."

Rhianna and Cailan spoke simultaneously

"I would lo-" Rhianna began.

"Climbing steps?" Cailan wrinkled his nose. "How many steps?"

"There are three hundred and eighty seven," Colette replied. "It is the second-tallest tower in the city. Only the White Spire where the Circle of Magi live is taller."

"That's a lot of steps to climb," Cailan said. "On an empty stomach, anyway. I vote we have lunch instead."

As everyone else agreed they were hungry, Rhianna opened her mouth to protest, but then, with an exhale and slump of her shoulders, closed it again. Disappointment coursed through her, but she didn't have the energy to argue with Cailan. If he was tired and hungry, and the others all agreed that lunch would be better than climbing the steps, chances are there would be no convincing him.

It didn't really matter, anyway. Who cared about climbing some stupid steps?

Except it did matter. Not so much because of the steps themselves, or even the view at the top, but because Cailan didn't know she would want to climb them. He didn't know even this one small thing about her. Cailan really didn't know her at all. It wasn't his fault, not really, but it was an unpleasant reminder of just how little they knew about one another. A reminder that she would be spending her life with someone who wasn't even her friend, let alone her lover.

Loghain would have known. He would have known she wanted to climb the steps, and made sure she had the opportunity.

She should say something. Just tell Cailan how she felt. It's not as though he would be angry; he'd even said he looked forward to getting to know her, which would never happen if she continually bit her tongue.

But as she tried to figure out how to say it without sounding demanding or whiny, Colette spoke again. "Lunch can easily be arranged. We will dine on the Avenue des Fleurs. Even though the flowers are not yet all in bloom, the plantings are still lovely; I think everyone will enjoy seeing them."

With that, the moment had passed. Another pang of disappointment as Colette led the way back toward the carriages.

Rhianna hung back. Her eyes filled with tears, and she blinked them away furiously. Maker's balls! How could she possibly be crying over something so insignificant? They were just some steps to the top of a tower. It was stupid to cry over something that meant nothing. Nothing at all.

Except that somehow, it seemed like a portent of things to come. Is this what the rest of her life would be like? Following around in Cailan's shadow, doing whatever he wanted, with no one to even wonder if Rhianna was happy or not.

She looked up to see that Gauvain had stopped, and watched her through narrowed eyes.

She forced a bright smile. "We ought to catch up with the others."

For a moment, Rhianna feared he was going to ask her something. A question she would certainly not want to answer.

Instead, he smiled and offered his arm. "As you wish, my lady."

Together they followed after Colette and the rest of the party.

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The Avenue des Fleurs lived up to its name, even in winter. The entire street was lined with trees, and at the intersection of every road that crossed it, raised beds were placed, with elaborate plantings. Even now, some things were in bloom: hellebore, with its tiny red flowers; yellow winter jasmine; the fragrant blue-purple blooms of Antivan irises. Rhianna recognized many plants that would be in full flower just a month or two from now, and almost regretted she wouldn't be here then to see them.

They dined at a small but elegant cafe that appeared to have been closed to other guests for the day, no doubt in anticipation of the party from Ferelden. The food was simpler, but no less delicious, than what they had been served at dinner the previous night. Rhianna was grateful for the glass of red wine she was offered; it helped calm her nerves, which were somewhat ragged. She was still disappointed about not climbing the steps, but more than that, in the back of her head, she kept hearing the Divine's words: _surrounding you, so much darkness. _She still had no idea what it might mean, and in truth, she wasn't sure she wanted to examine it too closely. Her life felt filled enough with darkness these days; the thought that more might appear was terrifying.

After lunch, there was no talk of returning to the Cathedral, and Rhianna couldn't quite bring herself to bring up the topic. So instead the carriages took them across the city, to the university. There was nothing to compare with it in Ferelden; as far as Rhianna knew, the closest thing in her country to a university was Kinloch Hold, where the mages were trained. But this place was not for mages; according to Gauvain, it was for everyone who wanted to study. Although when they arrived, it was clear that everyone present was a member of nobility, or at least wealthy enough to have the leisure for such study.

Like the Cathedral, the Université d'Orlais was grandiose and magnificent. So many people, and so very many books and other marvelous things, all in one place. There were four separate buildings, each one a marvel of architecture, with carvings in the lintels above the main doors depicting a personification of the focus of study of that particular college: Arts - a voluptuous woman holding a lute in one hand, and a paintbrush in the other, surrounded by books and scrolls and paintings; Law - a tall, very thin woman who held in her hand a double-panned beam scale, perfectly in balance; Science - a child with a quill and journal in his hands, surrounded by birds and animals, with stars in the sky above; and finally Thealogy - a man, on his knees in prayer before an image of Andraste.

In the center of the four buildings, was a grassy common area filled with people: small groups of men and women, arguing enthusiastically in debate; a teacher leading a discussion of the events that led up to the Third Exalted March, people sitting on benches - or even on the grass - in pairs or alone, reading or talking. Everywhere, a bustle of activity.

It was decided that, rather than staying all together, the visitors from Fereldan would be free to wander as they chose, and would then meet back in the common area later in the day. Cailan offered Rhianna his arm, and together – a quartet of guards close behind – they went off to explore the campus.

In the college of Law, they came across a room with arms and armor on display. It was fascinating to see how armor had evolved over time. The earliest examples from the north of Thedas were made of bronze and iron, whereas in the south - including Ferelden - only leather had been used. In both cases, the designs were straightforward with no ornamentation. Then, for several centuries there was nothing but chain mail all across the continent, until solid breastplates appeared again a few ages ago, and gradually, suits of plate were developed that covered all parts of the body. The use of ceremonial armor was a fairly recent development, where ornamentation eclipsed function. The most extreme example was a suit of armor worn by an Orlesian Knight-Vigilant of the Templars back in the Blessed Age. Rhianna and Cailan laughed at it together.

"How could he see anything, over those huge, pointed pauldrons?" Cailan laughed. "He'd have needed to be careful not to turn too quickly and stab himself in the face."

"And the helm!" Rhianna replied. "It looks far too heavy to actually be worn on someone's head."

"Exactly. How ridiculous," Cailan agreed. He turned to face her, and his face glowed, like a child at Satinalia. "This is wonderful, isn't it? Being here, in Orlais, I mean."

"Yes," she agreed, almost truthfully, "it is."

"And the Cathedral was magnificent, didn't you think so?"

"It was. The windows showing Andraste's life - I don't think I've ever seen anything prettier. But I . . . well, I wouldn't have minded climbing the steps to the top of the tower. I like seeing the view from high places."

"Do you? I didn't know that. Well, I suppose I did know. We climbed the clock tower together once in Denerim, didn't we?"

"Yes, we did." She was surprised he remembered. "On Satinalia when I was five."

"Then why didn't you say something? About wanting to climb the steps today? We could have done that before we had lunch."

"I . . . um . . . it seemed like everyone else was hungry?"

"Well, we'll just have to ask Colette about going back there again, perhaps on another day." He studied her face. "You really are enjoying yourself, aren't you? On the ship here, sometimes I thought . . . well, sometimes it seemed you weren't really looking forward to this visit. Almost as though you'd have rather stayed home."

It caught her by surprise to think he'd paid close enough attention to notice something like that. "I . . . well, to be honest, I've never really wanted to come to Orlais. When I was small, the idea scared me. I was afraid my head would end up on a pike outside of the city gates."

Cailan laughed. "Yes, I'll admit I used to have thoughts like that, myself. But then when I came here with my father - you know, for Celene's coronation - I had such a good time, and everyone was perfectly friendly. I wish I'd known you were worried. I could have eased your mind, and told you just how wonderful everything would be. But now that you're here, you're glad, aren't you?"

His eyes were so guileless, and his smile so sincere, it wasn't difficult to say what he wanted to hear. "Yes. I'm glad. This was a good idea."

And perhaps it was. She did feel as though something had lifted, the dark cloud that had hung over her since she'd returned from Denerim.

"I am glad I came." She reached up, and squeezed his arm gently, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile. He was handsome when he smiled. There was no denying that.

"There is something else I'm wondering," he began. "What did the Divine say to you? When she asked you to take off your mask?"

Oh. Yes, no doubt he would be curious about that. But just how much did she want to reveal?

"She told me my name was unusual, and then said some things about darkness, and following my heart. But to be honest, I'm not entirely sure what all of it meant. What did she say to you?"

"She quoted from the fifth chapter of Threnodies: '_The children of the Maker gathered before his golden throne, and sang hymns of praise unending. But their songs were the songs of the cobblestones. They shone with the golden light reflected from the Maker's throne. They held forth the banners that flew on their own_.' Like you, I'm really not sure what to make of it."

"Hmnh," Rhianna replied. "I've always thought that verse was meant to help us remember that all power comes from the Maker, not from our own selves. So perhaps that was the message. That's the only thing I can guess."

"Oh." Cailan's nose wrinkled. "Yes. You could be right about that. I do think that's what it means. Either way, I don't suppose it matters. It's the blessing that's important, isn't it? Having the Divine say a prayer to the Maker on our behalf?"

"Yes, I suppose that's true."

Next, they wandered over to the College of Science, and Rhianna was thrilled to find a hall filled with animals, from all over the world, stuffed to appear as they did in life. Together, she and Cailan marveled at creatures that were familiar - from seeing them in the Fereldan wilderness, or reading about them in books - as well as creatures neither of them could have ever imagined.

In the center of the room was an oliphant, like the one the woman from Seheron brought to the festival, and a tiger, although it looked shriveled and sad compared to Maya. There was a pangolin - a small animal covered in thick scales, with a long snout and enormous long claws on its feet, said to live in the jungles of Seheron. Against one wall was a display of creatures who lived far underground in the Deep Roads: a "deep stalker," that looked sort of like a wingless bird with a long neck and a round mouth full of sharp teeth, and a hairless rabbit-like animal called a nug. There were graceful white deer called halla, with gorgeous curved antlers; apparently, they lived in Ferelden, although Rhianna couldn't remember ever seeing one.

Probably the strangest, though, was something that looked sort of like a deer, but with a neck as long again as its body and legs combined. This "giraffe" was yellowish, and covered in dark spots, and also lived in Seheron.

"I wouldn't mind going there," she said. "To Seheron. To see all these wonderful creatures for myself."

"To Seheron? Why so far? What about those little nug things? They looked quite cute, and live just underground. I bet we could find them in Orzammar. If you like, we'll visit there this spring, and go looking for them together."

A trip to Orzammar? Together? It was startling, somehow, to remember that soon, she and Cailan would be living their lives together. And it was . . . pleasant to think that Cailan already thought of her as part of his life in this way. Perhaps living with him wouldn't be as awful as she feared. Even so, going down into the Deep Roads? The mere thought sent a trickle of cold down her spine. That much darkness, and being so far underneath the ground? She struggled not to shudder.

"I'm not sure how much I'd enjoy Orzammar," she said, trying to sound cheerful. "But I won't rule out the possibility. I must admit, though, that I like the idea of places we can reach by boat better than those underground."

They continued through the room, and along one wall, there was a display of nothing but bones that had been turned to stone, much like the ammonite pendant Loghain had given her. Only these bones were enormous - so big they could only have come from dragons, except that some of them didn't appear very dragon-like, and the drawings that had been made to try and illustrate what they had looked like in life were incredibly strange.

There was a "thunder lizard" with a huge body and thin neck that stretched out an impossible length, like a snake attached to a boulder, and a tail to match on the other end. There was something that looked much like the oliphant Rhianna had seen at the festival, only much larger, and with deeply curved tusks twice as tall as a man. And another that did look something like a dragon, except its head was huge and bulky, with teeth like daggers. Not at all like the graceful dragon skeleton on display nearby. And this creature - that they called "tyrant lizard" - must have been missing some parts, as the bones that appeared to make up the arms were ridiculously short, and had only two "fingers" on each hand.

Strange though they might be, there was something exciting about the thought of creatures this huge walking the earth at some time.

"Do you think they might still exist somewhere?" she asked. "Maybe beyond the sea, in the lands where the Qunari came from?"

"I don't see why not. After all, people thought dragons were gone, and they weren't. And I like your theory about them living across the ocean. The Qunari are much larger than humans; perhaps the wildlife where they lived is larger, as well."

Next, they found themselves in one of the libraries, an enormous room that seemed as much of a sacred space as the Cathedral itself. It was quieter, without the constant background of the chant being sung, and people moved silently on the carpeted floors, and spoke in quiet murmurs. It was one of the most peaceful, soothing places Rhianna had ever been.

"I think I'd like to get back out into the sunshine," Cailan whispered, starting to pull Rhianna toward the door.

But she stopped him. "You go if you like, but I think I'll look around in here for a while."

"On your own? Are you sure? Would you like one of the guards to stay with you?"

"No, that's not necessary. I'll be fine. I just want to look at the books."

"All right." He leaned down and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and then exited through the huge double doorway out into the bright daylight.

She'd enjoyed Cailan's company, but it was also lovely to have a few minutes to wander around and look at things at her own pace.

Was she allowed to touch the books? She glanced around and it seemed no one was paying any attention to her at all, so she worked up the nerve to pull a volume down from one of the shelves. No one seemed to mind, so she opened up the cover.

"Aveline, Knight of Orlais," was the title, and it had been written in 8:04 Blessed by Lord Francois Maigny. She was familiar with the story: Aveline had been abandoned by her parents as a baby, and raised by elves, in a time when women were not allowed to bear arms. But the elves taught her to fight anyway, and when she was grown, she was a formidable warrior. They sent her into the city to compete in a tournament, but when it was discovered that she was a woman, her opponent murdered her in anger. There was a prince at the tournament, though, and when he saw this happen, it upset him so much that he changed the laws so women could become chevaliers. It was a good story, and the book probably had many details Rhianna didn't know, but it was somewhat too long for her to read in the time available. Regretfully, she slid it back in its place on the shelf.

Next, she pulled down a tall, narrow volume, and was delighted to find it filled with beautifully detailed illustrations of dragons and other creatures. She crossed the room and settled herself in a chair, and began studying the pages one by one.

The book was marvelous, as were the creatures pictured inside. Huge, ancient female "high dragons" that had nearly been exterminated by Nevarran dragon hunters. The smaller, wingless male drakes. Wyverns, who lived in the mountains between Orlais and the Free Marches. Strange three-headed creatures called hydra. The seven Old Gods of Tevinter, four of whom had been corrupted and become Archdemons. Rhianna skipped those pages quickly, not wanting to be reminded of the darkspawn she'd seen not so very long ago. Beyond the dragons, there were other creatures: giant spiders, and huge armored animals called brontos who lived underground. Griffons, long believed to be extinct, with their horse-like winged bodies and beaked heads. She'd joked with Loghain once about trying to find them in the Hunterhorns.

Sudden tears filled her eyes and blurred her vision.

Loghain. Apparently, even the ample distractions of Val Royeaux were not enough to keep her from being reminded of Loghain. Of the life she had hoped for with him, the adventures she'd thought they would share. Yes, she'd been fifteen at the time, and the thought of searching for griffons was childish and stupid. But it hadn't meant any less to her at the time, and she'd truly believed that one day they would go there together. Just like she'd believed they would go to Antiva.

And, of course, to Gwaren.

She sobbed silently, squeezing her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. She focused on her breath, and took one deep, slow breath after another. And another. And another.

Damn it all! When would this stop hurting so much? And so unexpectedly. She'd been fine. She'd managed to forget about him for nearly the whole day, but now he was back in her mind, as vividly as ever. The sound of his voice. The way just one corner of his mouth turned up first when he smiled. The feel of his hair as it brushed against her skin. The way he smelled, like leather and new grass and earth. She ached to touch him, to be held in his arms. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, the weight of his body above her. She wanted him, wanted him so desperately her stomach clenched and rebelled against the lunch she'd eaten earlier, and she had to breathe more deeply, afraid that otherwise she might be sick.

"Rhianna?" A man's voice, nearby.

She gasped, and her eyes flew open.

Gauvain. When she looked up at him, he hurried to kneel beside the chair, and pulled the mask from his face. His brow furrowed, and he studied what he could see of her face. She wasn't sure if she was grateful for her mask, or if she wanted nothing more than to pull it off, and allow her expression to answer his question.

"Rhianna," he repeated. "Is everything all right?"

She forced herself to smile, carefully arranging her muscles into position. "Of course," she lied. "I'm just . . . I was just reading this book about dragons and things. It's quite interesting."

The creases in his brow deepened. "Oh. All right. I just thought . . . well, for a moment it looked as though you were upset about something. The way you were holding your shoulders."

She chuckled softly. "Oh, no. I'm fine. But thank you for asking."

"I hate to interrupt you again, but I was sent to find you; the others are ready to leave. If you would prefer to stay longer, I could tell them to go on ahead. I would be happy to remain behind and escort you back to the palace whenever you are ready to go."

For a moment, she was tempted. The library was lovely and quiet, and the idea of putting on a happy face for the others was exhausting. But she had no good reason to stay. She was done with this book, and didn't want to go looking for another.

"No, that's fine. I'm ready to leave. Let me just put this back where I got it."

Gauvain offered her a hand getting out of the chair, and offered her his arm as they walked back to the carriages, and spoke about the many wonderful things that had been seen that day. But as they rode through the streets of Val Royeaux, the sky lit with warm colors as the sun headed toward the horizon, Rhianna looked out the window, not in the mood to add anything to the conversation between Fergus and Gauvain. If they noticed she was quieter than usual, neither of them chose to comment upon it. For which she was very grateful.

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_A big thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my lovely reviewers: DjinnieGenie, Shan Temperance, Milly-finalfantasy, KatDancer2, Arsinoe de Blassenville, KrystylSky, Tevinter of Our Discontent, Kateskates24, Seth Motley, Kira Tamarion, Onion926, SwomeeSwan, Dragonmactir, and GLCW2._

_FWIW, I have based my ideas about Orlais on a combination of lore from the Dragon Age canon and real world Paris, which is one of the most beautiful cities I have ever visited. It's also possible that the Grand Cathedral has the same number of steps as Notre-Dame de Paris. _

_A note about stained glass: there is a gorgeous set of windows pictured in World of Thedas that tell the story of the Chantry, and it's likely that these are meant to be the windows found in Val Royeaux' cathedral. However, I had already envisioned a different set of windows for this story before I ever saw these "official" ones, and have decided to use my original versions, so I could give at least a brief retelling of Andraste's legend._

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	70. This life that awaited her

_**21 Haring, 9:29 Dragon  
**__**Val Royeaux**__**  
**_

‹›‹O›‹›

Rhianna was restless.

It was late, nearly midnight, and well past the time she should have been asleep, especially with the _bal masque_ the following evening, but she couldn't unwind. The past two days had left her physically exhausted, and her mind afire with all the things she had seen and done.

After a pleasant, but tiring day of wandering through the palace gardens, and attending a salon with the empress, Rhianna had taken a hot bath, hoping to calm her mind and relax her body. The hot water felt lovely, scented with fragrant oils that smelled delicious and made her skin feel smooth and soft, but she emerged feeling no sleepier than before. So she sipped at a glass of port before getting into bed. When she tried to sleep, though, no amount of laying still in the bed could make her mind settle down, and her thoughts turned inevitably back to all the heartache of the last few months, and her fear of what the future would bring.

Not wanting to dwell on any of that, she got out of bed. She went into her sitting room, and picked up a small figurine from the bookshelf: a wolf carved out of marble, with sapphires for eyes that seemed to glow from within. She'd had it for years; she'd found it in the dirt in the woods near Highever when she was about six years old. For a while, she'd carried it with her in her pocket just about everywhere she went, or held it in her hand; there was something comforting about it. Sometimes during the full moon she would make wishes on it.

When her parents noticed, they took it away, fearing it was cursed. After a few weeks, though - and after Geoffrey had checked it thoroughly for any sort of malevolent magic - they returned it to her, with her name engraved on the paw. For years, it was one of her favorite things, but eventually she'd outgrown it, deciding it was silly to carry around a talisman like that in her pocket. So she'd put it up on a shelf in her bedroom with her other trinkets.

When she was packing to come to Orlais, though, it caught her eye. It was one of only a few things left out, after she'd packed away all the things Loghain had given her. On a whim, she'd picked it up, and brought it along. She still felt silly about carrying it in her pocket, so she'd put in on the bookshelf. But just now, she picked it up and rubbed the cool, smooth marble along the ridge of the wolf's back, and the familiarity of it sent a wave of comfort washing over her. Holding it in her hand, she pulled a book off of the shelf, and sat down on the sofa to read.

It was a history of the First Exalted March, and interesting enough - stories about Andraste's prowess in battle were some of Rhianna's favorites - but the tiny print forced her to squint her eyes, and she couldn't concentrate enough to understand the Orlesian without reading most of the lines at least twice.

Finally, she gave up and set the book down as she laid back on the sofa in her sitting room, and forced herself to breathe slowly, turning the figurine around in her hand, over and over again, in the hope this would calm her mind as well as her body.

It didn't. Not really. So she gave in and let her mind drift back over the events of the day.

In the morning, Gauvain had appeared to give Rhianna, along with her father and brother, a tour of some of the palace gardens. Cailan did not accompany them; instead, he had a private audience with Empress Celene.

Gauvain escorted them through at least six ornamental gardens; the palace complex was much larger than Rhianna had realized. The biggest, and most impressive, was an avenue of trees with circular lakes at either end, each of which featured exquisite statuary fountains: one with rearing unicorns; the other with mermaids lounging on the rocks. There was a "moonlight" garden, with flowers that bloomed only at night, and plants with silvery foliage that could be seen in the darkness. Rhianna's favorite was an herb garden, with plants valued for their medicinal and culinary uses. There was also a hedge maze she found intriguing, although they didn't take the time to venture inside, and a rose garden, although with nothing in bloom at the moment, it was somewhat unimpressive.

Finally, they walked through a spectacular garden with paths that spiraled around low hornbeam hedges, unlike anything she had seen before. In Ferelden, while some parts of the garden were trimmed into shapes, there were always places where the plants were left to grow naturally. This garden was entirely the opposite. Instead of dirt, the paths were made of small crushed white rocks that gleamed softly in the sunlight, and the plants here were manicured into perfect shapes.

Rhianna and Gauvain walked together, while Fergus and Bryce ended up taking a different path, and soon, they were on opposite ends of the garden. Rhianna and Gauvain found themselves near a set of steps that led up an embankment, with a pair of pavilions at the top.

"I assume you would like to see the view from the top?" he asked, with a sweep of his arm.

"Yes, please," she grinned, and together they climbed the stairs.

While the garden had been interesting from the ground, when viewed from above it was truly magnificent. The low hedges looked two-dimensional, and they formed precise geometric patterns. They were beautiful, but Rhianna found them unsettling as well.

"Is something the matter?" Gauvain's question took her by surprise.

"What? No, nothing's the matter. Why do you ask?"

"You were frowning. Only slightly, but I wondered if something had displeased you."

"Oh, no. Not at all. I was just looking at the garden. It's . . . well, it's not much like the gardens I'm used to in Ferelden."

"What do you mean? How is it different?"

"In Ferelden, we let the plants be . . . plants. Um . . . how do I explain?" She bit her lip before continuing. "Everything is so perfectly manicured here. It's beautiful, but it seems less of a garden, and more of an . . . artwork using plants as the medium. As though the intention is to show one's control over nature, rather than appreciate its beauty. If that makes any sense."

"Yes, it makes sense." He looked down over the garden. "And you are right, the whole purpose of such a formal garden is just as you've said: to show control over nature. To assert that humans are the masters of our domain. In more romantic gardens - like the herb garden we walked through earlier - there, we cooperate with nature rather than trying to force strict control. It is not like this in Ferelden? Do you not have formal gardens?"

"Well, we do. But not to this extreme. There are hedge mazes, and sometimes plants are trimmed into shapes. But I've never seen anything as precise as this."

"And this formality is not to your liking?"

She tilted her head as she considered the question. "I wouldn't say that, exactly. This is lovely. It's just . . . different. Enough, I suppose, to make me frown about it." She chuckled. "Which is silly, isn't it?"

"Yes. A bit." Gauvain winked.

Rhianna couldn't help but laugh.

Down below, Bryce and Fergus had looked up, and spied Rhianna and her companion in one of the pavilions. Rhianna lifted her arm high to wave at them, and Fergus waved back.

"You and your brother seem to get along very well." Gauvain leaned against the railing, and turned to face her.

"We do. Of course, he never had much of a choice but to be nice to me; he's so much older, he'd have gotten in trouble for tormenting me. And I expect it wouldn't have been very satisfying anyway. I've tried not to be horribly annoying as a little sister, although there have been times I was awful."

"You? Awful?" He lifted a brow. "I find that difficult to believe."

"Really? I'm glad to hear that. I always prefer to have people fooled into thinking I have good intentions." Now it was her turn to wink.

"Oh, ho! You think you are fooling me? Well, I still don't believe you. You will have to give me an example of something you did, and I will decide whether or not it was truly awful."

"An example?" She trawled through her memory. "Well, once I hollowed out a hole in the bottom of an apple, and convinced a very large beetle to crawl inside. When Fergus reached for it, the beetle made the apple roll away, right out from under his hand time and time again, like magic. The look on his face was priceless."

"A prank, and a good one. But hardly what I would call awful."

"Really? He seemed to think it was awful at the time." Her nose wrinkled. "Hmnh. Oh, I know. He and I went swimming once, up in the hills. Well, we went swimming there a lot, but there was one time, while he was in the water I hid all his clothes, just to be silly. I intended to give them back later, but I placed them too close to the edge of the cliff, and they fell off. Fergus had to ride all the way back to Highever in nothing but his smalls."

At this, Gauvain threw his head back and laughed. "Now that is truly awful!"

"There. Now you see what sort of person I really am."

"Yes, I do. And I intend to be very careful should we ever swim together."

"Well," Rhianna giggled, "considering that it's winter, and rather cold out, I think you'll probably be safe for now. But you never know what other tricks I might have up my sleeve." She rested an elbow on the railing. "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No, I was the only child of my parents before my father died."

"But that was years ago. Did your mother never remarry?"

"No, she did not."

"Why not?"

"Partly because she loved and missed my father, but also, she had no desire to make a political marriage. And when you are the sister of the Emperor, that is sometimes difficult to avoid."

"No doubt." It was difficult for the daughter of a teyrn as well, but Rhianna chose to keep that thought to herself. "Was her marriage to your father not political?"

"Not really, no. Because he was a chevalier commander, he was considered high enough in status to be wed to someone in the royal family. But he was definitely not who Florian would have chosen; she married my father in spite of her brother's wishes. And later, he wanted her to marry a Nevarran nobleman, and she rebelled by refusing to remarry at all. She dislikes politics, and the Grand Game, and all the intrigue at court."

"The what? What sort of game?"

"Ah, you have not been here long enough yet to know about the Grand Game." He took a deep breath, and turned to face her. "Remember what I told you about masks, and how important they are here in Orlais?"

"Yes, that they're related to status."

"Exactly. And they are just part of what we call the Grand Game. It is something that everyone does, all the nobility at least. Mostly because we have no choice." He paused, as though searching for words. "Here in Orlais, there is much rivalry amongst the nobles. For land, prestige, influence. For the best marriage. Favor with the empress. Everyone is always trying to get ahead of everyone else. As happens all across Thedas, of course. We just take it to something of an extreme here. And what we call the Grand Game is just the way people try to manipulate one another and situations for their own benefit. If this makes any sense."

"It makes perfect sense. We don't have a name for in in Ferelden, but there is certainly a fair amount of competition amongst the nobles, people trying to get the upper hand."

"Yes. That is it exactly. And of course, they cannot do it openly, because it is very impolite to wear anything but a smiling face in public, and pretend to be the best of friends, even with your worst enemy. So, it is in secret they plot and scheme to destroy one another. It is a game completely meaningless to anyone but its players, but there is an entire culture built up around it here. Many people even hire assistance, in the form of bards."

"Bards? Aren't they just traveling players? Minstrels, or musicians?"

"Ah . . . in Ferelden, perhaps. But here they are far more. Minstrels are merely singers and storytellers. Bards, while usually skilled at these things, are also capable of spying, infiltrating and stealing. Sometimes they perform assassinations, depending on the bard and on the profit involved. They may work alone, or in small groups, doing the bidding of a wealthy patron who pays for their services. Or a less than wealthy patron who is willing to spend every last _sou_ in order to become more wealthy by a successful move in the Grand Game.

"It was all of this that my mother had no patience for. She tried to give me a life well away from all of that, so we lived in Jader when I was young."

"You lived in Jader?"

"Yes, until nine years ago."

"How is it possible you lived in Jader all those years, and never once visited Ferelden? It's right next door."

"Ah!" he laughed. "Perhaps the same way you lived your whole live in Highever, and this is only the first time you have visited Orlais. Highever is nearly as close to the border as Jader."

Rhianna chuckled. "Yes, but here I am. And I'm only seventeen. I haven't had as many years to travel as you have."

"Fair enough. I suppose I was just never particularly adventuresome. Of course, if I'd known I might have had the chance to meet you sooner, no doubt I would have made the trip."

Her cheeks grew warm, and she bit her lip to force back the smile that threatened to take over her face.

"Nine years ago." Her eyes narrowed as she did the math in her head. "So you left Jader when Celene became empress?"

"Yes. That is when, and why, I left."

"Then all your mother's efforts still didn't save you from a life at court, did they?"

"That is one way of looking at it. But remember, I do not spend most of my time here in Val Royeaux."

"Oh that's, right. You live in Val Chevin. Is that why you left Jader? Because Celene made you Duke of Val Chevin?"

"Yes. That is the exactly the reason. And I am glad of it. I enjoyed Jader, but Val Chevin is lovely, and I have built a good life for myself there."

"So, what does the _Duc du Chevin_ do with his time when not in Val Royeaux?" Rhianna asked.

"Nothing unusual. I have lands I oversee, I hold court and make judgments when people have disputes, make certain everything is working the way it should for the people who live in my district. That there is food for everyone, and trade is healthy, and we can defend ourselves should the need arise. Very similar, I should think, to what your father does in Highever."

"So are you . . ." She felt suddenly shy about asking the question that had come to mind.

He cocked his head to one side. "Am I what?"

"I was just wondering if you're . . . married."

He hesitated a moment, and one corner of his mouth curved up into a smile. "No, I am not."

Of course he wasn't. Not that it mattered one way or another. Why should she care whether or not he was married? It made no difference to her, although Rhianna was more certain than ever that Celene really did intend to make a match between the two of them. Which was a shame, really. If he wasn't Orlesian, and if she wasn't already promised to Cailan, Gauvain might have been . . .

Well, there was no point in thinking about that, was there? And anyway, her father and Fergus had reached the steps. It certainly wouldn't do for her father to overhear any conversation about marriage.

"So," she smiled, "tell me more about Val Chevin."

‹›‹O›‹›

After lunch, Colette came to escort Rhianna to a salon with the empress and many of the other noblewomen of Val Royeaux. After a walk to yet another part of the palace Rhianna had not visited before, she found herself in one of the smaller audience rooms. It was lavishly decorated with red and white paneled walls, wood inlayed floors, and sparkling chandeliers. Most impressive, though, was the painting that took up most of the ceiling overhead. It was circular, painted to look like an opening in the ceiling, to reveal a blue sky with fluffy white clouds overhead. And all around the edge, figures were painted to appear as if they were staring down into the room. Men and women, chubby naked children, even a donkey and a peacock. The perspective was perfect; at times, Rhianna almost believed there really were people up above.

At the salon, she was surrounded by women of all ages, all of whom seemed interested in vying for the empress' attention. No men were present; presumably they had attended some gathering of their own.

Seated at Celene's side, Rhianna did her best to follow the threads of various conversations, but most of them revolved around the same sort of gossip she heard in Denerim – who had been ill with the grippe this season, which seamstresses in the city were the most innovative and talented, which young noblemen had been seen coming and going from the _bordel_ district - except here it concerned people she didn't know, and was therefore of even less interest than the gossip back home.

Celene was gracious, making certain Rhianna was included in the conversations, and there was music and poetry, and wine and cakes. Surprisingly, she enjoyed herself at least as much as she did at similar affairs in Denerim, although it was exhausting. While it was a blessing to not know any of these women, and therefore not be involved in any of the gossip personally, a great many of the questions that had been addressed to her seemed to be trying to pry personal or political details, so she took care in how she replied. Nothing could be said of her not-yet-betrothal to the king, or how good the harvests had been in the Bannorn that year, or just how large Fereldan's military forces might be, and where they were most abundant. Because of the necessity of polite deflection, it was even more tiring than salons in Denerim.

By the end of the afternoon, she was grateful to retreat to the privacy and silence of her room, and for a while, it had been lovely just sitting by herself, without having to do or say anything.

But now, Rhianna was restless.

Not just restless, but lonely, as well.

What she wanted was some company. She wanted a conversation in Fereldan. She'd heard and spoken nothing but Orlesian for hours at the salon. Now she wanted to hear Fereldan, with its round vowels, instead of the nasal buzz of Orlesian. She wanted to speak Fereldan, and feel its comfortable pattern flow off her own tongue.

Perhaps Fergus or her father were awake.

No, not Father. An easy conversation with him wasn't possible right now. While they were able to be polite to one another when other people were around, they hadn't spoken privately in weeks. Given the opportunity, she doubted he would be content with mere pleasantries. He'd want to talk about everything that had happened recently, and either try to apologize or berate her for her attitude, and she certainly wasn't in the mood for either of those things.

While her relationship with Fergus was far less tense, any conversation with him was likely to turn serious as well. He'd been shocked to learn about Loghain's proposal and the upcoming betrothal to Cailan, and he knew Rhianna was unhappy about both events. Even though he'd tried his best to be supportive and optimistic, so often these days he looked at her with what appeared to be pity. While his intentions were good, she wasn't in the mood for that, either.

That left Cailan. She hadn't spent any time with him today, and was surprised to discover she missed him. She'd not expected that, but it was true. On the voyage here she had become accustomed to his attention, and also to the funny way he had of talking about things. The way his mind skipped from one topic to the next without any obvious thread, until one looked a bit deeper. He wasn't a stupid man, even though he sometimes seemed that way on the surface, and there was always a link that led from one topic to the next, even if it was sometimes difficult to catch hold and follow it. But she was learning, and in some ways it was a challenge she enjoyed.

Yesterday, she'd enjoyed wandering through the university at his side, and he had been sweet when he learned she'd wanted to climb the steps. She should have just said something at the time; it had been stupid not to. He wasn't intimidating or mean, after all. He was kind to her, and friendly, and cheerful, and seemed to genuinely want her to be happy. She couldn't blame him for not knowing things she'd never bothered to tell him.

And he'd remembered climbing the clock tower with her all those years ago. They did have a shared history together, even if it wasn't as varied and rich as what she'd shared with Loghain. But it was a place to start, anyway. He wasn't perfect, but perhaps that didn't matter. Nobody was perfect, after all, certainly not Rhianna herself. Maybe things would be different for her than they were for Anora. Not that Anora was to blame for his wandering, but perhaps Rhianna, knowing to expect it, would be able to do something different. Find some way of encouraging him to be faithful. Maybe there was some truth to what Cailan said: he and Anora just knew one another too well, had been friends for too many years, and it drained the . . . passion out of their relationship.

Of course, that hadn't been a problem for Rhianna and Loghain, but maybe it would have been eventually. Perhaps Loghain and her father were right, and Rhianna would ultimately have ended up unhappy. (She didn't really believe that, not even for a moment, but if she kept repeating it often enough, perhaps someday she would be able to convince herself).

Either way, there had to be some chance things would be different with Cailan when she became his wife. Since Cailan was her future, she owed it to herself - owed it to both of them - to try and find a way to make the best of it. To find a way to be happy.

Right now, she wanted to hear someone speak to her in her native language, and no doubt Cailan would be happy to oblige. And then he would kiss her, which actually sounded nice right now. Perhaps it would calm her, to have him hold her in his arms and whisper in her ear that he loved her. Something fluttered in her chest, and for the first time, it wasn't grief or dread, but instead the tiniest bit of anticipation.

She slipped a robe over her nightgown, and, careful to make as little noise as possible, she left her room and went down the hallway to Cailan's quarters. A guard was posted outside, but he gave only a brief nod of his head before continuing to look straight ahead.

Rhianna knocked on the door softly, not wanting to wake him if he were asleep. He didn't answer the door, but there were faint sounds - a sort of thump, and then rustling, and footsteps as though someone were walking around inside.

She waited a few moments, but he still didn't come to the door. Perhaps he was asleep. But, then, what were those noises?

She knocked again, a bit louder this time. Now, there was definitely the sound of movement, and finally, footsteps approaching.

The door opened, and Cailan stood before her, undressed except for a bed sheet wrapped around his waist. His hair was mussed, and he was slightly out of breath.

"Rhianna?" His brow creased, and he sounded anything but happy to see her. "What . . . what on earth are you doing here?"

"I wanted to . . . talk." His appearance was alarming, and she stumbled over what to say. "We . . . well, you and I haven't seen one another all day, and I just thought we could-"

There was something on his cheek, a smudge of something bright pink. She reached up to rub at it with her thumb . . .

Lip paint. The sort worn by the ladies of the Orlesian court.

"Cailan? What's going on here?"

Before he could answer, laughter floated out from somewhere behind him, and a woman's voice called, "_Mon lapin? J'ai besoin de tes embrasses!_"

"My rabbit?" Rhianna repeated the words, as disbelief flooded her.

Maker's balls. There was a woman here with Cailan. A woman who called him her rabbit, and apparently needed his kisses.

A woman.

In his bed.

Heat rose behind Rhianna's eyes, and she felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.

"Cailan?" Her voice sounded broken and small, even to her own ears.

"I can't talk now, Rhianna." His eyes were wide, and his breath came quickly, his chest slightly heaving with the effort. "Please. Just go back to your room. W-we can talk in the morning, all right? Please?"

Rhianna turned on her heel, and fled down the hallway to her own quarters. She slammed the door behind her, and then leaned back against it, struggling for breath.

That bastard. That miserable bastard. He was with a woman. He was laying with another woman, while Rhianna was just down the hall. Rhianna, whom he intended to marry, whom he'd promised to love. They weren't even betrothed yet, and already he was laying with another woman?

My little rabbit, indeed.

A tear slipped down her cheek and she angrily wiped it away.

She wasn't heartbroken. No, not that. How could she feel genuinely betrayed, when this was what she'd expected? This was nothing more than proof she'd been right all along.

But still, something inside of her ached. She had wanted to be wrong about this. Wanted to believe that maybe things with him would be all right. That they could be happy together. It had seemed possible, on the voyage coming here, and yesterday, when he'd walked with her, and been funny and kind, and she'd wanted so desperately to believe that maybe this could be the start of something good.

But it wasn't. Cailan would never be faithful to her; that much was absolutely certain. For the rest of her life, every minute she wasn't with him, she would wonder which of the women at court he was laying with at that very moment.

She let out a breath, half sob and half angry laughter. As if she had any right to be angry about this. Cailan wasn't her husband yet; they weren't even formally betrothed. He was still married to someone else. So technically, he wasn't even being unfaithful to Rhianna; Anora was the one being betrayed.

Just as Anora had been betrayed every time Rhianna had allowed Cailan to kiss her.

Another tear slipped down her cheek.

She hated this. She hated being right about what life with Cailan Theirin would be like.

Oh, Maker. This was not what she wanted.

She focused on her breath. In and out, in and out, trying to slow the pace, to keep herself from becoming winded.

Perhaps she was overreacting. After all, history was filled with stories about royals and their paramours; Cailan was hardly the first king to cheat on his queen. Surely, he didn't really care about any of the other women he was with, including this one. How could he care? Whoever this woman was - some servant, or lady-in-waiting - Cailan had known her two days at most. When she was out of his sight, she would be quickly forgotten. And perhaps Cailan was only doing this now because they were in Orlais, and he thought what happened here didn't matter. Perhaps things would be different when they returned home to Ferelden.

Except they wouldn't.

He'd done this before. And would no doubt do it again, over and over and over. Perhaps she was stupid and childish, but the thought of being married to someone who would be intimate with other women on a regular basis made her sick to her stomach. Even worse was the thought of being married to someone she didn't like, nor respect. Someone she wasn't even friends with. Someone she didn't trust. Someone she could never, ever trust.

And that is what her future held. There was no way for her to escape this life that awaited her. No way to escape Cailan, with his philandering and his lies and his bedsheet and lipstick smudges on his cheek.

What if she went to her father? Right now, and asked him to "check" on Cailan. Would catching Cailan in the act make her father angry enough to take back the promise he had made? Angry enough to realize his daughter deserved better than a man who couldn't keep his cock in his trousers?

Probably not.

Her legs buckled beneath her, and she pressed her back up against the door to keep from sliding to the ground.

If he confronted Cailan right now, it would probably not change anything in the long run. Because this had never been about love, or about Rhianna's happiness. This was about politics. Her father knew about Cailan's infidelities, and that hadn't changed anything. Confronting it now would only cause drama and heartache and bad feelings. Nor did Rhianna want everyone else to know just how unworthy Cailan already found her. Unworthy of being faithful to her, before they'd even begun. But whether Cailan was unfaithful or not, Rhianna would still be the Queen of Ferelden, and that was all Father really cared about.

Queen of Ferelden.

Would being the queen ever bring enough joy or satisfaction to soothe all the aches and regrets over what she had lost to get there?

Probably not.

All she wanted was to be in love with one man, a man who could love her in return. To be precious to someone, to be the most important person in his eyes. To love him more than her own life, and know he felt the same about her.

She wanted Loghain. She'd once believed she would have those things with him. But he was gone now, gone forever, and in his place was . . . nothing at all. Any hope she'd had for a genuine relationship with Cailan turned out to be nothing more than a pretty bauble that had shattered in her hands the first time she tried to hold it close.

She crossed the room to the liquor cabinet, and poured a generous glass of brandy. It was warm going down, and took the edge off her anger, melted away the worst of her frustrations.

Just anger and frustration. No grief. No sadness. No. Not those things. Cailan hadn't earned her sorrow, so she pushed it away. Refused to feel it. He certainly hadn't earned her heartbreak. Why would her heart break over something she'd known would happen eventually?

Already, her decision not to fall into love with the king had paid off.

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A big thank you to my wonderful beta readers, Psyche Sinclair and Sehnsuchttraum, and also to all my fabulous reviewers: DjinnieGenie, Melysande, KrystylSky, Tyrannosaurustex, KatDancer2, Kira Tamarion, Amanda Kitswell, Seth Motley, Shan Temperance, Arsinoe de Blassenville, SwomeeSwan, Milly-finalfantasy, Dragonmactir, and Tevinter of our Discontent.

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